


31 +

by SidneySydney



Series: Each to Our Own [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Violence, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Insecurity, Loss, Loss of Identity, M/M, Manipulation, Pining Keith (Voltron), Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:04:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 103,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11856804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidneySydney/pseuds/SidneySydney
Summary: The team broke apart and then crashed together like the waves of the ocean. Unbeknown to them lightning struck at the moment of their clashing, an invisible, and humiliated, threat. The boat is not steady in these new waters of theirs. Take Lance's advice and don't FUCK with the ocean.





	1. Thirty-One + 1

**Author's Note:**

> So here's a teaser of what's to come. This is gonna spread out into the other characters more, though Lance is still centric to the story. (You probably noticed me doing that in the last one lol) I like multiple pov's. 
> 
> Thanks again for all your amazingness!

Keith fell asleep that night with Lance in his arms.

It was the strangest, most surreal, most _selfish_  feeling he'd ever experienced in his life. He'd never held anyone in his arms before, never felt their warmth against him, never felt the tickle of their eyelashes against his cheek, never felt the slightly uncomfortable knee digging into his ribs. He'd never shared such a thing with another human, was slightly unsure on the mechanics of it. All he knew was that he wanted more of this, every day, for the rest of his life. 

He never wanted to be lonely again, now that he knew what the alternative felt like. What Lance felt like. 

Lance smelled like laundry powder—had tasted like flowers, and felt like water beneath his fingers. He looked like a boy, nothing more, nothing particularly spectacular, but when Keith pressed his ear into the space between his shoulder and neck—

 

He sounded like a symphony.

 

A symphony of life.

Keith could hear it all, just beneath his flesh, the sound of Lance _living._ Could hear the way his blood rushed through his veins, the growl of his stomach, the creak of his bones, the breath through his lungs and, most amazingly, the continuous, methodical beat of his heart. Keith could hear it, right against his ear.  _ALIVE,_ something inside him screamed. 

_thumpthump_

      _thumpthump_

_thumpthump_

_Right there._

Keith wanted to reach inside Lance somehow, bury himself between all these sounds of him living, be surrounded by it, know nothing except the sound of Lance's existence. 

_thumpthump_

            _thumpthump_

_thumpthump_

Keith remembered the sound of Lance when he'd died. Nothing. There'd been nothing. No rise and fall of his chest, no breath against his face, no pulse against his thumb. Lance had stopped. 

So had the rest of the world. Keith's world had  _stopped_ along with Lance. Like there was nothing more  _than_ Lance. 

But he was here now—alive—and Keith's world started moving once again.

_Lance._

A symphony of living. Beneath Keith's hands, which were resting on his trembling wrists, feeling that pulse of his course through him. Within his ear, pressed against his slender throat, the steady _thumpthump_ rocking Keith to sleep. Within his chest, which could feel Lance's own rising and falling with the rhythm of his breaths. He could feel it all, something precious that had so nearly been cruelly ripped away from his hands before he even knew he had it.

Keith buried himself impossibly closer to Lance, tightening his grip on those shaking wrists, breathing in the smell of him.  

_Never again._

* * *

When Lance dreamt that night, it was of Lotor.

Of Lotor's hands, but not on him.

On Keith, as he stood behind him and dug those wicked claws into Keith's left eye, spilling blood, spilling tears, spilling _Keith,_ as they reached inside, all the way to his wrist. Keith was still, not reacting despite the defilement, his face a pale, blank mask of _nothing._  Then Lotor pulled his arm back, Keith's blood and tears painting his purple skin with pure violence, and revealed a single eye—Keith's eye.  

It was glowing yellow.


	2. Thirty-One + 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance mourns the loss of something precious. Keith is reckless, as usual. Pidge stumbles on something.

When Lance was four, his mother had first taught him how to knit. 

_"You see those hands of yours?" she asked, her own hands, worn and calloused from years of work, ghosting over the tops of his. "They were designed by God himself for this very task."_

_"Isn't knitting what girls do?" he asked suspiciously, scrunching his face up at her from his place on her lap, where she was showing him the mechanics of knitting. It was kind of boring but he liked the sound of his mother's voice, so remained where he was._

_"It's what someone with kind and gentle hands does. Gender has nothing to do with it. Look at your sister." He did. She was sitting on the lounge, ten at the time, busily using her hands to create a tower out of Leggo. "You see the way she uses her hands to build things? How they can't stay in the same place for very long? How they're always moving from one side to another? Her hands are different to yours. They're restless. Yours are steady. Always still, despite the way you wave them around. You're always in control of them. Sometimes when people concentrate their hands on a task like this they begin to shake. It's too much for them to handle, this one little task. But can you see yours now?" she asked, tapping her fingers against his knuckles as they grasp her knitting tools. "Completely still. Controlled. Flawless."_

_"They don't look like the other boy's hands," he commented, flipping over his hands to stare at the smooth brown skin. "The other boys on our street have rough hands."_

_"Your hands don't have to look like the other boys hands. They're **your** hands. And I have no doubt you will do many, many wonderful things with them. I bet you could even save the universe with them." _

_He smiled up at her. He definitely liked the sound of that._

Lance had always loved his hands. He loved to link them together by the fingers, loved to run them over the surface of the things around him, loved to touch other people's hands with them, and have them touched in return.

Most recently, he loved that his hands could fire a sniper rifle with deadly accuracy, a skill he'd picked up in first year at the Garrison when they'd spent a week at a military training camp as an introductory. They'd done a class on firing guns and Lance had been surprised at the familiar sureness in his hands he'd felt when he first lifted the weapon. He'd immediately felt like he'd been carrying one his entire life. When he'd fired those three shots he'd felt the same thing he felt when he knitted. The steadiness. The absolute certainty that his hands were the right ones for the task.

He'd been upset that gun training hadn't been a graded class when they got back to the Garrison. It was the one talent he could have shown off to everyone so he wouldn't have been bullied so much. _'No distinctive skills,'_ his school reports would read.Maybe Keith would have noticed him back then if he'd ever seen Lance shoot. 

So, when his bayard first transformed into that rifle, his hands had automatically reacted the way they would have if he were knitting, curving around the weapon like it had always been a part of him. And every shot he'd made during his time with Voltron had served as a reminder as to why he was here. 

_Pew: You're important. Pew: No one else can make these shots. Pew: Just because everyone else has a flashier talent than you doesn't mean you're not valuable._

_Pew: You're a sniper. Pew: You're there to watch their backs and clear a path, to make **them** look good. _

_Pew: You're valuable. Pew: You're needed. Pew: You're important. Pew: You're contributing._

Lance always had issues with his self-worth, but he'd focussed hard on just making his shots count. He'd faltered. His confidence wavering severely when Pidge had made that comment in Beta Traz. But ultimately Lance had saved the day, securing them Slav so they could take down Zarkon. Without that fateful shot the entire plan would have gone up in smoke. 

No one else on the team had as steady hands as Lance. No one in the _universe_ had his hands. They were his, and they were capable. 

Lance cried out in frustration when his knitting needle slipped and stabbed into his left hand, instantly drawing blood. His head smacked into the wall behind him and sent white light flashing through his vision. His hands trembled even fiercer than before and he dropped his knitting tools. Allura had asked him to continue his knitting as it would train his hands into recovering themselves, but it had been ten days and nothing had improved. He was no closer to finishing this scarf for Pidge than he was at the beginning.

His hands were useless to him now. It was like someone had ripped out the floor from under him, sending him tumbling. He had no place in the universe anymore. The one thing that gave his existence real purpose, the one thing that connected him to his mother now, was gone.

Tears burned at the back of his eyes as he screwed them up against the pain in his head and hands.

"Lance?" came Shiro's voice. "Are you okay?"

Lance slowly reopened his eyes and glanced at Shiro on the opposite end of the training deck from his place sitting cross-legged against the wall. "I'm fine. My hands just slipped when I was knitting."

"You're bleeding," he commented, his narrow eyes diving for Lance's hand as he gestured for Hunk to end the training session.

_There you go again, Lance, dragging everyone down._

"It's fine," he reassured, dipping them into the middle of his lap so they were hidden from Shiro. The leader had enough to worry about at the moment, with Black rejecting him and all, so Lance didn't want to worsen it.

Too late.

Both him and Hunk were making their way over to Lance, eyes concerned, brows crinkled—basically parents. "You should go to the med bay and get it wrapped. I think Coran is in there at the moment giving the Galra prisoner a check-up before we interrogate her."   

That, Lance did not want to have any part of. Would rather not ever see that Galra again in this life, or any other life. 

"I said I'm  _fine,_ " Lance squeezed out between clenched teeth, eyes turning into vicious slits as both Shiro and Hunk lowered into a squat in front of him. Shiro's hand went to his shoulder while Hunk's grasped his hand, turning it over. A bead of blood dripped down onto the floor. 

"Not to side with Shiro here, but I agree. You're probably due for another dose of vitamins anyway." 

Yeah, that. Apparently Lance's body was in complete denial over the fact that it was  _alive_ again. He'd slowly been getting better, slowly eating more food and engaging in some very light stretching and cardio exercises. But he still threw up at least once a day, still had terribly sore muscles which often caused agonising cramps and left him writhing on the floor, and he still couldn't stand up for more than half an hour before he needed to rest again.

Keith and Pidge had been patient with him, taking turns at spending hours next to him curled over the toilet bowl while his empty stomach heaved out nothing but bile. Hunk was still cautious about Lance, still tip-toeing his way around, and Shiro was spending most of his spare time trying to coax Black open. Point was, Lance was still incredibly unhealthy, and due to him not taking much food or water in, was forced to have daily injections of various vitamins and bullshit to keep his body functioning. 

 _"You're still losing weight,"_ Allura had commented yesterday, giving him a scrutinising look, her hand propping her chin up. _"If we can't figure out a way to coax your body back into health soon we'll have to confine you to your bed."_

The idea had sent resentment coursing through Lance. Curse his weak-ass body. He'd bet his entire life that _Keith's_ body wouldn't have reacted as badly to being brought back to life as his did. 

"Please don't make me go there. I hate it," Lance tried, pouting up at the Yellow and Black Paladins. Hunk and Shiro had been spending a lot of their training hours together recently, both seemingly having discovered that they were the only one's they could test the full brunt of their strength out on. They'd become great training partners, the way Lance and Keith used to be before Lance was restricted to this laughable training routine. It was the one time he missed having his ass handed to him by Keith in hand to hand combat.

"C'mon, Lance," Hunk encouraged, pulling Lance up to his feet and wrapping a hand around his waist. Lance appreciated the gesture but was annoyed that Hunk still saw him as this weak cowardly thing. "You'll feel better afterwards."

Itching at the bandage on his left arm, a result of his daily injections, Lance replied, "I doubt it."

"Lance," Shiro said firmly, as he rose up to eye level. "Please just do as Hunk says. You'll pass out like last time if you don't go."

Shiro's logic, always flawless, left Lance gaping for an argument, but he came up empty. He didn't want to be any more of a burden to Shiro at the moment than he already was. The least he could do was get lost in the med bay to give him some peace of mind.

"Fine. But I can walk by myself," he said, slipping out of Hunk's arms. "I'm not going to keel over and die from a five minute walk." 

That—

Was the wrong thing to say.

Both Shiro and Hunk's faces shattered at the same time. Hunk's screwing up as his eyes squeezed shut, obviously trying to rid some awful image out of his mind, and Shiro's falling to the floor, looking like he'd failed at something, eyebrows drawing harshly inwards. It happened to everyone whenever Lance even remotely brought up the topic of death; their composure just completely shattered before him. It would send Pidge into his arms, Allura into a motherly state and Keith into a fury. So, Lance tried to keep any mentions of it to a minimum. 

Feeling bad for his failure on this particular occasion, Lance slunk out of the room with a passing, "I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me."

Lance had been the only one not present during that time. He'd been off in dreamland with Mr I'm-even-more-of-an-asshole-than-you. He would never be able to comprehend the things they must have felt. He wanted to cry every time they looked at him with that deep, remorseful gaze.  

It was like they'd all lost their drive.

He'd done that. Because he didn't tell them about the capsule when he had the chance. 

Lance couldn't help the feeling that Voltron was in even rockier waters than before. 

* * *

Lance didn't go to the med bay like he'd promised. He went straight to his room, the one place in the entire castle that didn't make him feel like he was suffocating. He'd go to the med bay later, when the Galra prisoner was long gone and frozen again. He didn't want to face  _that_ right now.

When the doors whooshed open he was met with an annoyingly familiar sight sprawled out comfortably on his bed, knife in their hand and their messy head propped up against the mountain of pillows Lance had collected over time. Keith hadn't worn his jacket in ages, so Lance wasn't surprised to see him clad only in black yet again. When Lance stepped inside the room, feeling dejected, Keith's pale fingers moved away from the purple symbol they'd been tracing on the side of the weapon. His legs instantly hitched up to make room for Lance on the other end of the bed as he looked up. 

"Shiro called, he wants his shadow back," Lance said flatly, collapsing onto the side of the bed. "That's you, by the way."

"Ha ha. You're so funny," Keith responded, discarding his knife on the floor besides him and pulling himself up into a sitting position. His dark eyes narrowed in on Lance's form. "What's wrong?"

Lance waved a shaky hand. "Oh, the usual. Just hanging around the castle, not contributing a thing because my weak-ass body is an _asshole._ "

"Wow, so you admit you're an asshole?"

"No. There is the self—which is the soul or whatever—then there is the body. Right now, my body is letting down my self," Lance explained, throwing his hands around as he gestured to explain it all. Keith watched his hands with pointed eyes, they narrowed further when he saw the badly wiped away blood on his hand, but he didn't say anything.

"Shiro told you to go to the med bay, didn't he?"

"Yup."

"Did you consider that he has a point?"

"Oh, I know he has a point. But I'm stubborn and I don't want to be there at the same time as the Galra asshole getting their undeserving check-up right before their interrogation." Lance turned himself on his side, pulling his legs up into his chest. He saw the dim, blue lighting of the room cast strange, eerie shapes over Keith's face.  

"I can understand you there," Keith admitted, nodding along slowly. 

They lapsed into five minutes of silence, Lance lying in a tight ball on his side while Keith sat with his legs crossed at the head of the bed. Five minutes of staring at each other. It wasn't awkward until Keith decided to clear his throat, glancing to the side. 

"So, there's something I wanted to talk about, actually. Which is why I'm here." 

"You're here most days," Lance pointed out. 

"Whatever," he sighed, then his eyes hardened, like he was bracing to be stabbed or something painful like that. Lance was worried. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you about what happened ten days ago. Between us." 

"I thought it happened between me and Hunk, thanks for clarifying." 

Keith's face twisted into surprising anger, causing Lance's eyebrows to shoot up. "Stop joking for a second and just answer seriously," he growled, eyes twitching. Lance recalled his dream from that night with Keith and immediately banished it into a far away corner of his mind. Looking at Keith's eyes, now, always conjured up those awful images. 

"Right, sorry," Lance gave, his voice reining itself in. "What did you want to ask about it?" 

"Do you regret it?" 

Lance stared at him for a moment, delving Keith's expression; it had grown probing, his own eyes running over Lance's face like he was searching his slightest expressions. Lance had an idea where he was going with this and felt the urge to dash out of the room. But, weak-ass body and all, it would prove useless when Keith could catch him in an instant. Lance also found it was cruel to leave Keith's questions unanswered. It was like denying a starving puppy. 

Argh. 

"It's not like we slept together. We made out," Lance said pointedly, evading.  

"You can still regret that." 

"Which I don't, by the way." The words tasted vaguely like a lie on Lance's tongue. 

Keith's eyes lit up, practically sparkling like a fucking Christmas tree. Or like a kid's eyes looking at a Christmas tree—just anything to do with Christmas, and that's what Keith looked like.  _Oh shit._ Lance was going to have to do the assholeish 'but' here before he got carried away. 

"But it can't happen again," he said, with the feeling of regret low in his stomach. 

Keith twisted his face up in confusion. "Why the fuck not? Don't you dare tell me it was a mistake."

It was. But looking at the Keith's desperate expression, the way he was leaning forwards so eagerly, Lance bit back his words. He'd have to find another way around this. Damn him and his dumbass brain for not saying no to Keith ten days ago. 

"I'm not saying that," he started carefully—slowly—watching the way each word affected the expression on Keith's face. "I'm saying that it could very quickly turn _into_ a mistake." 

"I don't understand," Keith said, tipping forwards on his hands and knees and—

Oh no, he was doing that prowling thing he did before he made a stupid decision, his face all quirked up into a sideways, dangerous expression. Eyes fiery. Lance had to fan out the flames before Keith had a chance to ignite them. He wished he had a hose in that moment. That would definitely keep him at bay. 

"If it happens again things could get messy. I doubt the team will appreciate it in general, but if it starts to effect Voltron, then they will appreciate it even less. And I know you don't want to risk Voltron, Keith. It's too important to you." Lance had picked himself up now, scooting his ass backwards until his back met the wall behind him. Keith kept coming closer, apparently not hearing a word Lance said.

He reached out a hand for his wrist, and Lance snapped it backwards out of the way, not wanting Keith to feel its humiliating shaking. "I said _no._ I know it's pretty much impossible to talk you out of things at times, but I'm asking you to respect what I'm saying here." 

Keith froze, his jaw working uncertainly under his skin as he watched Lance. "You don't want this?"

"I do! I just—God, if you had listened to me then you'd understand," Lance moaned. 

"Then what's the issue?" 

" _I just told you_ , _dumbass_. I can't do this right now. I can't get involved with anyone," Lance pleaded, begging Keith to understand. 

"You flirt with girls all the time!"

"Oh my God. I don't mean anything by it. It's just a icebreaker."

"You could have fooled me," Keith sneered. 

Lance could feel his hands trembling even fiercer now, almost completely up his arms. It happened whenever his stress became worse, and Keith seemed to notice this, his face collapsing, like they _all_ did, as he suddenly remembered what had happened all those days ago.

He fell backwards again, pulling his stray hands away from Lance like they'd been burned.

A tiny part of Lance whined as the distance widened between them. That tiny part of him, suddenly extremely pissed at Lance's larger part, decided to replay a few key images to mess with him. Replayed the feeling of Keith's hands running over his neck, his shoulders, his back, down his chest and over his stomach, leaving trails of glowing fire all over his skin. Replayed the feel his burning lips pressed against his own cool ones, the way Keith had practically thrown himself into those kisses, thrown himself into Lance.

It had honestly been a little awkward; Lance's hands were a major contributing factor to that. When he'd tried to cup Keith's cheeks between them he'd ended up almost punching the other boy in the face. Keith was also annoyingly into biting—biting  _everything._ And as much as Lance enjoyed it at first, he'd snapped at Keith to cut it out when he'd gone to bite his earlobe. But despite all that, Keith had felt so  _good_ that night. He hadn't treated Lance like he was going to break at any moment, and Lance had drowned in the feeling of being handled like an equal again. But in the end, it was a bad call. An extremely bad call, that he'd only made because he was feeling emotionally susceptible. 

Lance had a habit of ruining all the things had made recently, he didn't want to ruin this thing with Keith. It had been so meticulously and delicately made in the first place. He had to put an end to it. But Keith was Keith, and Lance couldn't do that without giving him a little something in return. Otherwise he'd fight him the entire way. 

"I'll think about it," Lance tossed at him, like the loose end of a rope. 

Keith immediately picked it up and tugged. Lance almost felt the jerk of it. "What do you mean?"

Lance glanced down at his hands as he twisted nervously together by the fingers, enjoying the pressure between each one. "You're right, this is something I want. But I mean what I said, it needs to wait. It can't happen like this."  

"How do you want it to happen?" Keith asked, leaning back into Lance's space slightly, eyes all lit up again.  _Christmas._

Christmas was his weakness. He had to keep it away from him. This light.

Lance gently shoved Keith, hands firm on his shoulders, back onto his own side of the bed. "Not like this." 

Keith seemed to resign himself to this, falling back on his hunches as he nodded. Lance finally having got his message through. His face was half turned into his shoulder as his stormy eyes glanced up to him, challenging. 

"I'm not going to stop trying; I won't make it easy for you to say no. But I won't force it." 

He laughed. "Of course. That wouldn't be a very Keith-like thing to do." 

Two minutes of silence. Then:

"We're still on for tonight though, right?" Keith, said, peering up at Lance through his hair. 

Lance smirked, "You bet." 

Keith, thank all the Gods, wasn't like the others, not completely. He still pushed. 

* * *

When Pidge found herself wandering the deserted halls (they were always deserted, really, but now even more so) of the castle that night she heard a suspicious noise echoing off the walls. It was the sound of something being clashed against something else, repeatedly. She was instantly on alert, despite the way her tired body dragged behind her. Sleep was more of a beautiful fantasy these days instead of a reality. Her brain naturally ran a million miles an hour, however, after all that had happened, it was working double time. 

_Lancelancelance._

_Shiroshiroshiro._

_Hunkhunkhunk._

_Keithkeithkeith._

_Alluraalluraallura._

_Corancorancoran._

Over and over again, her mind would chant these names, each time more frantic than the last.

_These are the people I must protect. My family._

Their names joined in along with those of her brother and father's. An endless stream of names inside her head. It made her dizzy sometimes, the pace at which these names would come. 

_Protect_

_Protect_

_Protect_

_Your family._

As she drew closer to the training room the noises became even louder, and clearer. Metal clanging fiercely against metal, a continuous beat, and voices, too. Soft, and broken between the clashing of metal, but clearly prevalent. Fighting. Someone was fighting. 

She began to run, feeling her heart race inside her chest, sending the blood roaring into her ears. The familiar instincts she felt before a battle rose up inside her. She didn't have her bayard, but she didn't stop. She'd been trained not to hesitate. She rounded the corner into the training room and started back at what she saw. 

The lights were dimmed, a soft blue glowing along the walls, and there were two figures inside, both of them coming together and then apart, before they clashed against each other again. They were silhouettes against the faint lighting, one slightly taller than the other, holding a long staff between their hands. The other figure was shorter, and wielded a sword expertly between their hands. Pidge recognised them instantly, knew the way they moved like she kew her own heartbeat. 

Lance and Keith.

They were training, in the middle of the night. Though Lance was without his rifle, and instead wielded this staff—jerkily, clumsily, parrying Keith's blows with weak arms. 

 _What the fuck?_ was Pidge's first thought.

Lance should not be in here. Not at all. He should be sleeping. Gaining his strength and allowing his body time to heal itself. This was putting his entire health in huge detriment. Pidge could see his weak stance, the way his shoulders sagged and the unsteady tip of his body. He wasn't fit enough for this. What was he (and Keith) thinking?

The two of them suddenly halted their sparring, Keith's bayard instantly vanishing and Lance's staff dropping to the floor, along with the rest of him. But Keith was there, caught him by the shoulders and held him up, murmuring something into his ear. His hand dove into his pocket to pull out something, passing it to Lance, who instantly held it to his mouth—drinking. Pidge could hear him gag like he always did when he ate or drank these days. It was a violent and terrible noise, which had everyone at the table dropping their heads.

Keith continued to hold up Lance's frail form—so much thinner than he already had been. He was practically leaning entirely on Keith's shoulder while he continued to take small sips. Then Keith was bending down and taking up Lance's fallen staff and escorting them both towards the door—towards Pidge.

Her heart spiking, she darted out of the way and into a corner of shadows that shielded her completely as they passed, Keith's hands clinging tightly to Lance's waist and the hand thrown over his shoulder. They disappeared around the corner towards the Paladin dorms. 

Pidge...

Pidge was seething, anger boiling hot under her skin as she stared at their disappearing shadows. Lance, she could understand, wanting to do this—this secret training. He didn't want to be useless, was worried about pulling the team back. But Keith— _Keith—_ should have known better. They all knew Lance was unwell, and they all knew that the only thing that would fix that was rest. Yet here Keith was training Lance in the middle of the night, _exhausting_  him to the point of collapse.

It was irresponsible, and just plain fucking dangerous. Toying with Lance's life like that.

Tomorrow, Pidge was going to have some words with Keith.  

Boy, was she going to have some words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration hit, luckily for you all. 
> 
> The first 1000 words I did of this vanished and I nearly screamed but I made it better the second time so it was okay in the end.
> 
> There will be mistakes. Forgive me. 
> 
> Follow me on:  
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean
> 
> xoxoxoox


	3. Thirty-One + 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner is never a pleasant affair, really. Coran is a the gorgeous man. Keith is having some technical issues.

When Hunk watched Lance yank himself away from the dinner table that night during a mission debrief, he felt his entire body turn to stone, heavy and cold. The look on Lance's face when his hand wrapped around his mouth and as he shot to his feet to bolt away made Hunk himself feel ill. He'd hardly even eaten half his meal this time. He'd thought Lance was improving, slowly, getting slightly stronger with every passing day. But Lance looked worse than ever. The dark shadows under his eyes and cheeks looked like they'd been drawn on with a dark marker and whenever Hunk touched his hand to the other boy's shoulder, the bones underneath practically cut into him with how sharp they were.

To say Hunk was worried would have been an extreme understatement.

The moment Lance rushed away, presumably to the toilet, both Pidge and Keith stood to go after him, but paused when they noticed each other standing, their eyes fastening together, equally as defiant and haughty. Unwilling to back down. 

"You went with him last time," Pidge began immediately, standing opposite Keith, who crossed his arms. Hunk was next to Pidge, and Allura next to Keith opposite him. Shiro had been opposite Lance, who'd been seated next to Hunk.

The tension in the room rose as Keith starred daggers at the opposing girl." You were with him this morning after he woke up," he argued.

Pidge stabbed a finger at him. "You're _always_ with him. You're like his guard dog or something. Always sniffing around his room, barking at anyone that comes by. I wouldn't be surprised if you grew a pair of ears at this point." 

"You're being ridiculous."

 _Come on, guys,_ Hunk wanted to plead. Now wasn't the time for another arm wrestle between Voltron's two hands. Diagonally from him, Shiro looked exasperated, letting out a long breath. Hunk thought Shiro arriving back would have signalled the end to this kind of pettiness between the team, however, it seemed not even the Black Paladin could bring back peace magically out of thin air.

Well, at least they still had Allura. "Paladins. I'm going to borrow your Earth term here and tell you to shut up before I send you both out of an airlock. You can fight as much as you like out there," she growled, her fork clenched tightly between her hand. "I know we're all worried about Lance but it's important not to suffocate him. He needs his space, just like the rest of us." She turned to Coran, sitting by her side, ever silent and ever watchful over them all. "Coran, if you wouldn't mind going to check on Lance. Don't force your assistance on him or anything, just ask if he wants your help. If not, leave him be."

Coran nodded, rising from his chair and fetching Lance's glass of water at the same time. "Yes, Princess. The rest of you remain here and calm yourselves and do as the Princess says." He vanished through the entrance door. Pidge and Keith slid icily back into their seats, still glaring at each other.

"Right, now, back on track. We have a recovery mission, out first opportunity to showcase Voltron and redeem ourselves in the face of Lotor's damage. We also have a debt to pay. It was us who convinced Kolivan to join Voltron, the least we could do is recover him from Earth." 

"We're going back to Earth?" Hunk's back shot up in his seat, along with everyone else, looking surprised. 

"Isn't that a bad idea? What if Lotor's still alive?" Shiro asked, lowering his hand which had been pushing his food around his plate. 

"All the more reason to return. If Lotor is still alive, then he's a threat to your planet. To Kolivan, too. We must go back if we're to begin settling our debts." 

Shiro didn't look convinced. "I'm still not sure, Princess—"

"Allura is fine," she deadpanned, her face turning harsh.

Shiro's eyes narrowed on her. "... _Allura._ We still can't form Voltron. Lance is too unwell, and his hands will be a problem when piloting."

Keith seemed to light on fire at this, snapping his head over to Shiro. Hunk, too, felt indignation rise inside him, and before Keith could say something he regretted he said, "Did you seriously just call Lance a problem?"

"Of course not," Shiro shot back, his eyes glancing off Keith's angry face to land on Hunk's. "I'm just pointing out a fact. Here's another fact: I can't pilot Black. We're down two lions which means Voltron isn't possible, _which means_  potentially facing Lotor again is too big a risk."

" _You're_ the one that wanted the Blade of Marmora on our side so badly, are you going to risk that Alliance now because you're worried?" Pidge asked, adjusting her glasses. Hunk sighed. He sensed another soon approaching argument. 

"Yeah, what's your deal?" Keith added.

Hunk had never seen Shiro blow up properly before. Lance described the one time he blew up at Slav and it honestly sounded like a terrifying event he'd very much like to not witness. Luck wasn't giving him a break today, though. _Shiro was mad._

"My deal,  _Keith,_ is I'm not the Black Paladin anymore. My deal is that I'm finally back but Voltron is still leaderless. My deal is that Lance has been getting  _worse_ despite what he says. My deal is that I can't be the leader you all need for this mission. Which is  _why_ it's a bad idea,  _Allura._ " 

Everyone was stunned into silence. Keith's eyes dropped in the middle of Shiro's rant, looking guilty and sad while Pidge sunk back into her seat. Allura focussed entirely on her meal and Hunk just stared. Just stared at the way Shiro's face twisted into this ugly, devastated, self-loathing thing. Hunk should have kept his mouth shut. He knew Shiro had been having it rough since Black shut him out, but the guy was just so good at controlling his emotions that Hunk forgot.

He supposed, to some extent, he's stopped viewing Shiro as human. Just  _human,_ like the rest of them were, besides Keith, of course, Galra and all. With weaknesses and fears. 

"Well," began Pidge, and Hunk had the sense that she was about to drop a bomb, or something equally catastrophic. "I at least now know why Lance isn't improving." Hunk saw Keith straighten in his chair, eyes snapping instantly to Pidge. What was with everyone today? Hunk looked at Allura helplessly as they both waited for the explosion. "Keith's been training with Lance secretly at night. Combat training. It's why Lance is looking so awful lately. He hasn't been getting the rest he needs, because _Keith_ is exhausting him into collapse during the middle of the night." Her eyes were fierce on Keith's burning face, rage written in the flash of his dark eyes. 

The room exploded. 

It just fucking—lit up. 

_BOOM._

* * *

As Lance made his way slowly back to the dining room, leaning heavily against a gracious Coran, he heard the sound of people shouting. Namely, Keith and Pidge, their voices clashing together like two evenly matched swords. Lance felt his teeth clench from the force of their voices, both of them crackling with rage. Him and Coran halted as the words began to make themselves clear.

"What the hell were you thinking?! Pushing Lance like that could kill him— _again_! What, one time wasn't enough for you?" Pidge snarled.  

_Oh no._

He heard Keith laugh bitterly. "Oh, you can talk. Here you all are sitting here treating him like he's going to break at any second. He wants to be trained! He came to me because none of you would give him what he needed. He can't shoot! And you expected him to just sit around like he was okay with that?" 

_Please don't._

"Keith, I understand what you're saying, but it's irresponsible playing with Lance's life like that." Shiro? His voice sounded too weak for it to really be him. 

_Stop._

"I'm not playing with anything, I've got my eye on him the entire time. He's safe!" 

_Please._

"Didn't seemed to stop him from collapsing at the end last night. You ruin him like that every time you train?" 

_Guys. I can't._

"Pidge, calm down for a sec. You're not helping anyone, _especially_ not Lance, by shouting at Keith," Hunk tried calming her, his voice clearly distraught, but was restraining himself. Trying desperately to be the voice of reason. 

He heard his name used repeatedly by each of them inside the room, like a weapon against each other.  _"You can't do that to Lance! You can't treat Lance like this! Lance is this! Lance is that! Lance Lance Lance Lance!"_

_Lance. Lance. Lance._

_Him._

This was his fault. The team was falling apart again because of him. 

Lance had to get out of here. He couldn't walk in there in the middle of _this—t_ his awful rift he'd reopened within the team again. Coran, bless his soul, noticed Lance's dilemma and started to pull them both away from the terrible voices shouting his name. With each time it was used, Lance felt the rift open up a little more. He screwed up his eyes against the burning sensation. All they were supposed to do was discuss a mission back to Earth, Allura had explained the details to him earlier, ensuring him that if he were well enough, he could have joined, but circumstances were against him. He'd understood, being kept back here while the others went down, but it didn't mean it hurt any less.

"Lance, dear boy," Coran started, walking slowly for Lance, but not hovering, just sticking there. Keith treated him in a similar way, less afraid for him than the others, but he had this tendency to touch Lance more than typically necessary. His hands were always a firm presence on his body. Coran's voice was reassuring. "You know none of that is your fault."

God, he was a good man.

"Could have fooled me with the rate they were mentioning my name. Kinda sounded like I was the cause of it," he said bitterly. Briefly he fretted over the potential of losing his nightly lessons with Keith. It sent panic coursing through him. He needed these skills Keith was teaching him, but he couldn't wait for his body to get its shit together, it would just have to catch up.

"They're just worried about you, is all. Worry does strange things to people," Coran commented, guiding them around a corner. Lance's leg twitched with a cramp suddenly, sending him down onto one knee. He gritted his teeth and growled as he waited for the pain to cease. Coran was patient, simply lingering quietly while Lance picked himself up again, not fussing over him like the others would have. Once it was over, Lance pulled himself up and Coran continued on without a word.

"I know they're worried, I just didn't want it affect the team dynamic so much. And I know you said it's not my fault, but it doesn't stop me feeling like it is," Lance said regretfully, praying Coran didn't take offence to his words.

"I know it doesn't, and you're allowed to feel that way. But I'd recommend just giving them some time to figure it out between themselves." They'd reached the viewing deck now, Coran apparently thinking it would be good for Lance. Lance didn't have it in him to argue against the man's logic. "Besides, look at it this way. While they're all in there arguing, you can finally find some peace and quiet for yourself," he chuckled, lowering him gently to the ground, where Lance secured himself cross-legged, leaning back on his hands.

Coran did that same swishy thing with his hands Allura always did when she was discussing a new mission, and a projection sparked into view, right above Lance. He gasped when he saw what it was.

Earth. It sat there, floating above him. The clouds, the grass, the sea. He could see it all. He hadn't been able to enjoy a single second of it when he'd been there before, was too busy trying (and failing) not to lose his mind. He'd missed his opportunity to see it all again the way he'd so desperately wanted to. This might only be a projection, but it was everything he wanted and more right now. 

"Oh," he said out loud, his mouth hanging open like an unhinged door. Behind him, Coran was backing away with a kind smile tucked behind his moustache. "It's beautiful."

"I took a recording of a full cycle of its orbit for you before we left, just in case. I must admit, Earth rivals even Altea in terms of her beauty. Though I'm still team Altea due to my long lasting ties with her, but Earth is now definitely my second favourite planet. I see what you mean about the rain now. It's stunning."

Lance fell back bodily onto the ground, grinning upside down at Coran. "You really go above and beyond at times. Allura is lucky to have you—we all are." He paused, gaze shifting to watch the image of earth above him, right underneath the South Pole. _Awesome._ "Thanks, Coran. This means a lot." 

"Anytime, dear boy. Just do yourself a favour and rest here for a while, and I'll go join the others to see if I can sort out this mess they seem to have gotten themselves into. Oh, and I promise not to tell them where you are," he teased.

When Lance heard the doors click shut behind him, he whispered, "Literally you are the best." 

He spent who knows how many hours staring up at the spinning image of Earth above him, using his shaky hands to alter the angle so he could watch from his place splayed out on the floor. He was currently staring at Cuba, zooming in as far as he could on the small Island, his gaze longing. He felt his heart ache the longer he stared at it. _Right there_. His family was right there, going on with their lives, mourning Lance, probably walking past his picture on the mantle above the fireplace with devastated faces, turning away from it. He wondered if his mother had turned it on its face yet. Lance might have been alive now, but he was still dead to his family for all he knew. Most likely pronounced dead in a piloting accident by the Garrison when he disappeared. Less questions that way. 

The accident most likely labelled as  _'Pilot Error'_ —Lance's fault _._ For all his family knew, Lance's stupidity had gotten himself and his two friends killed. 

Maybe they thought of him with shame now.

Maybe they were disappointed in him.  

Maybe Hunk and Pidge's family hated him now. 

Maybe they all did. 

* * *

Keith was mad.

Mad at Pidge; at Shiro, Hunk and Allura. Most importantly, he was mad at himself. Mad at himself for being so _mad._  He couldn't control it and it had sent him rushing out of that room with a snarl. When his anger got to him like this—forcing out the red in the corners of his eyes—he retreated to his lion, slamming himself down in the Pilot's seat and disengaging all the communications when Shiro or Allura's face popped up to reprimand him, and flew the fuck out of there. Red always roaring appropriately with rage as they shot away into the stars. Today was no different.

He thought back.  

_There was a knock at Keith's door, three short raps of their knuckles before Keith was tucking away his knife and calling them inside. Surprisingly, it was Lance, looking awful, but determined, eyes like blue fire as he walked in. Keith, seated on his bed, rose an eyebrow, taking in the way Lance moved to stand in front of him. He went to cross his arms in front of him, but they shook too violently for it to look casual, so they dove into his pockets instead. A classic Lance look. His eyes were focussed entirely on Keith._

_Anticipation ran through him at the expression on the Blue Paladin's face. He looked like he wanted something from Keith, and—not to be selfish—Keith had his own ideas about what he wanted Lance to want from him. His eyes ran greedily up that long neck of Lance's, both concerned for how thin it looked, and intrigued by the smoothness of the skin. Only three days ago he'd ran his lips all over that skin, focussing particular attention on the bruises left behind from the capsule. He remembered the way he'd pressed Lance down into the mattress as he centred all his attention on that spot, murmuring into the skin, kissing it like he could erase all those offensive marks and replace them with his own. He remembered the **noises** Lance had made when he did that. _

_"Keith," Lance's voice cut through his distracted brain. Keith's eyes refocussed on his serious expression, tearing away from his neck with a concerning amount of effort._

_"Lance," he responded. It was strange seeing Lance in his room, though with the rooms all looking exactly the same it really was no different to seeing him in his own room. But it was different. The fact that this was where Keith slept somehow changed everything._

_Lance took a step forward. "I have a proposition."_

_Keith tried to reign in his hopes before they could gallop away from him. "I'm listening."_

_'Please please please please please.'_

_"I want you to train me. At night, when no one else is up. They're not letting me do anything at the moment and I feel like I'm falling behind. And considering that I need to pick up a new skill all together it's only going to get worse." Lance's eyes dropped to the ground, long lashes splaying out over his cheeks, which were red, like he was humiliated. "You're the only one I can ask this of."_

_Keith's answer came without hesitation. "I'll do it."_

_He'd said it from the start, right? They'll train Lance to use another weapon._

_Lance's eyes shot up to his again, surprised. "Really? No, 'oh, but your health!'?"_

_"I can tell you were going to do this with or without my help, so I might as well be there to teach you, and to make sure you don't pass out in the middle of the night. Everyone would just find out if that happened, defeating the purpose," Keith smirked._

_"I wouldn't pass out," Lance argued haughtily, his chin jutting forward._

_"Now, I know that's a joke," Keith laughed. He wanted to invite Lance to sit on the bed with him, but something held him back. It was likely his long-lost good sense making an appearance again. "I understand the risks," Keith continued. "And I'll still teach you. But you'll follow my rules. When I say we stop, we stop. If I say you need a break, you take a break. If I see that it's going to put you in serious risk, I'll cut you off. They're my terms. Take it or leave it."_

_Holding out a shaky hand, a surprising gesture which had Keith's eyes widening—Lance avoided all contact with the others with his hands these days—he waited for a handshake. Keith gave it to him immediately, closing his hand firmly around Lance's jittery one._

_"Deal."_

Keith didn't regret his decision, and knew neither did Lance. He didn't care what the team said, Lance needed these training sessions, and not only because he was having an identity crisis, but because Keith got the feeling that something big was about to happen. Lance needed to be prepared. He still wielded the staff clumsily, still dropped it a dozen times in a single session, but his stubbornness to learn was slowly paying off. It showed in the few bruises he'd collected on his legs and torso over the last few days. Keith wasn't going to stop, and neither would Lance. It was necessary. 

Under his hands, he felt Red hesitate, her speed decreasing. He frowned, that wasn't like her. After Keith had earned her trust she'd done as he'd commanded without fail, always backing him up when he needed it. She'd never faltered for him before. He was instantly suspicious.

A moment later all his screens—his scanners, sensors and alarms, _everything_ —disappeared on him and the lights within the cockpit dimmed. Beneath him, he could feel the way she powered down, her engine fading away into silence.

Then, they were left floating directionless in the middle of space. No communications, no power and no controls. He'd flown far away from the castle, so there was no way they'd pick up on his issue.

He jiggled the controls frustratedly between his hands. "C'mon, what are you doing? Wake up!" 

Nothing. His lion was completely silent. Her reassuring growl inside his head, gone. 

He was stuck, alone, in the middle of God knows where, without any means to contact his team.

 _Quiznak._     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Okay, the next two days there definitely won't be any updates because they're my late days, which is why I'm updating today. I'm in the middle of applying for another uni course for next year so I need to focus on that for a tick. Also current uni is important. Eh. 
> 
> But anyway, enjoy. 
> 
> xoxoxo


	4. Thirty-One +12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith should have just NOT. Acxa makes an appearance. Keith has a strange mind and a laughable dilemma on his hands.

So, as it turns out, Keith was still extremely adept in getting himself lost/in trouble/in danger/and just plain making some pretty bad calls. Shiro was in a fit of worry, marching around the control deck, snapping at everyone the longer time went on, his mask of calm gradually slipping with each passing hour. It fell away to reveal this  _other_ Shiro. This Shiro was panicked, demanding and almost unrecognisable to Lance.

Keith had been missing for exactly twenty-four hours now, ever since he ripped out of the castle in a fiery rage after dinner, leaving the discussion about their next mission incomplete. No one had thought anything of it, as it wasn't unusual for Keith to roar out in Red occasionally, however, when he hadn't come knocking on Lance's door that night for their training session, he'd become concerned. He'd darted straight for Shiro's room to tell him as much, though the Black Paladin hadn't looked pleased that Lance had been expecting another lesson still.

_"It's bad for your health," Shiro said, shaking his head as he pulled on a shirt. Lance's eyes ducked away when he saw the vast scattering of terrible scars over his entire body. Permanent reminders of everything he'd been through during his time with the Galra._

_"My health isn't what should be worrying you right now. Keith's still not back. He's a dumbass at times but he wouldn't disappear like this without at least grandly announcing it in some rudimentary, self-demoralising way," Lance argued, leaning heavily on the door frame. When Shiro was dressed, he turned towards the door and went to offer Lance a hand before they headed for the control deck. Lance brushed it away, annoyed, but with a good-natured smirk. Shiro's face was all crinkly with stress at the moment, the least he could do was limit it._

_Shiro kept a slow pace for him as they walked. "I'm sure he's fine, Lance. But I suppose double checking his whereabouts won't hurt," Shiro responded tiredly._

Shirowasn't so sure _now,_ that was certain.

"Allura, anything?" he pressed, coming up beside her to scan over the screens she had up.

Looking directly in front of her, eyes vexed at Shiro's sudden loss of composure, she breathed in slowly and answered, "Like I said before, nothing. His lion isn't showing up on any of our radars."

"Surely he can't of gone that far," Pidge commented from her seat, where Hunk was leaning over top of her squinting at the screens with wary eyes. He had deep shadows cutting in under his eyes, they all did. After Lance had unceremoniously rung the alarm about Keith's disappearance in the middle of the night, none of them had gotten a wink of sleep.

"It's Red," Lance said. "She's faster than this castle at top speed, and it's been an entire day. More than enough time for her to go off radar."

Allura nodded her head, her eyes screwing shut like agreeing with him was the last thing she wanted to do. She was tired of the people around her disappearing, Lance could tell, and didn't want to acknowledge it as part of their reality anymore. "Even so, the castle should still be able to track the lion. Even if he were galaxies away. So that in itself is concern enough. Without a wormhole, Keith wouldn't have been able to cross between galaxies. We _should_ be able to pick up on him."     

"So, where does that leave us?" Hunk asked. 

"There's only one explanation, I'm afraid. Actually, perhaps two or three," Coran said, counting off his fingers, looking confused. Lance didn't blame him, finger counting was confusing.  _Maths_ was confusing. "Either his lion is offline. Or he's hit a patch interference, though that doesn't explain not being able to pick up his lion's energy signature, so count that out. Or he's been taken by someone—Glara, or whoever—and they've taken him across galaxies."

"You forgot being a insensitive dick who doesn't want to be found," mumbled Pidge, eyes scornful.

" _Pidge,_ " Shiro scolded, at the same time Allura and Coran started with, "What's a—"

"Nothing!" Hunk and Lance burst out, hoping to clean up Pidge's mess.

Lance fell further back into his seat as Allura and Coran left the topic untouched, refocussing on all the screens that flew up around them, their hands moving rapidly as they pushed one aside to reach for another. Lance saw various maps, diagrams, names and equations on them all, none of which he had any interest in as he felt his eyelids begin to droop. God, he was tired. He was tired most days, but this was something else. His limbs felt like they were going to sink into the seat because of how heavy they felt. He glared at Keith's seat in front of him. 

Stupid mullet. Running away like this because of another temper tantrum, then getting himself stranded/lost/captured/who fucking knows at this point. Lance certainly didn't, and it struck a strange cord in him, made him twitchy and impatient for answers.

Though nothing could match Shiro's level of stress. It was phenomenal, truly something to behold, as he walked over to his control panel and slammed his metal fist into the metal, leaving a sizeable dent behind. Everyone paused their activities. Allura and Coran's hands stopped swishing around, Pidge's eyes halted in their tracks as she read off her screen, Hunk's shaking leg came to an abrupt stop. Even Lance's fidgeting hands stilled, though the trembling continued on...as usual.    

"Dammit, Keith," Shiro growled out, his head bowed over his control panel. Lance could see the tension inside his large shoulders, could practically see the vibrations of his barely concealed anger. He couldn't tell if he was angry at Keith or _for_ him. Reading their relationship was like trying to read Altean, which meant it would end up biting you in the ass as you came across something unexpected.

"Shiro," Lance began, pulling himself up slowly in his seat, using his hands on the armrests to aid him. "You know Keith better than anyone. You said so yourself, he'll be fine. He's probably just sitting out there pissed off at himself because Red ran out of gas or something." 

"The lions have an infinite supply of energy," Coran supplied, unhelpfully, pulling at his moustache.

"Could have fooled me." This was Hunk, a whisper.

Lance shot them both a reproachful look, his hand splaying out in front of him as if to say, _really, guys_? "Or maybe Red and Keith are having an argument? Like a dominance issue. They're both hotheads, so it's bound to happen," he continued hopefully.   

" _Lance._ I know you're trying to help but will you just be quiet for a second? If you hadn't have forced Keith into these lessons of yours then he wouldn't have flown out with such a big chip on his shoulder," Shiro bit out, a hand rubbing at his temple and eyes screwed shut. 

Lance felt his stomach hollow out—felt his breath stolen from him at the bite in Shiro's words. Accusing. He was accusing Lance of all this. He drew back into his seat, but caught his expression just before it collapsed, smoothing it out into something blank. His hands began to tremble even more. Sure, Shiro always had some reproachful words for Lance, but that was always when he was messing around or flirting with another girl, neither of them really meant anything by it. This was different, this was real, unfiltered blame. Lance wasn't used to Shiro being disappointed with him. 

He should keep his mouth shut. But unfortunately, he'd never had much experience at that.

"What was I supposed to do when none of you were willing to give me the help I needed?" 

"Umm, wait? Build your strength, so you can actually get better," Pidge said, as if it were obvious. 

Lance scoffed. "That would be great if I could still shoot. I could get back to it no problem after all that time spent recovering. But I can't shoot now. I need to be totally retrained in something else and that takes  _time._ Which is the one thing we don't have." 

"I know, but it was irresponsible, using Keith like that. For yourself," Shiro growled, eyes opening to look at Lance.

_Oh._

Shiro didn't mean it, he didn't, Lance knew that. He knew Shiro was just stretched far past his limits, but the words rung inside his head like a horn. A familiar one.  

_Using him._

_"Influence him,"_ Lotor's slimy voice had purred into his ear. 

_Use him._

Lance was not using Keith. And the fact Shiro had just accused him of that sent white hot anger coiling up in his stomach. He gave up trying to school his face. Fuck it. He allowed it to fall into an ugly sneer, his lip curling. God, being tired and malnourished really did shorten his tempter.

"You're a fucking biased asshole if you think I was using him for myself. I was thinking of the _team._ If the Galra attacked tomorrow, we'd need the lions, and seeing as Black has shut you out, that only leaves us with three.  _Unless_ I relearn how to fight with a different weapon and how to pilot while I'm _fucking_ _disabled_." 

The others were watching with bloodless faces, their eyes wide as Lance and Shiro hacked it out. It must have been a sight, the team goofball yelling at the leader. But Lance could see, despite their shocked expressions, that they were still on Shiro's side. Whether that be because they were simply worried about his health or blamed him for getting Keith all frazzled, he didn't know—didn't care. It hurt either way to see them completely overlook his point of view. He wished, surprisingly, that Keith were here. He would have backed Lance up.

Something hot tickled inside his mind, feather-light, then it was gone. So light, Lance almost didn't notice.

He added, in a whisper, "I was only trying to help."

"Lance," Allura breathed softly, her face drawn. "I understand, believe me I do. But you're no good to us if you exhaust yourself into another grave."

 _Another_ grave. 

Then, inside his mind, she added,  _Shiro's just worried. He doesn't mean what he says._

 _He still said it. I think we all know how saying things you don't mean can fuck things up by now,_ he thought bitterly. 

"So," Hunk's awkward voice peeped in. "What are we going to do about Keith?"

"We're searching for him. We'll take Yellow, Green and Blue and try to track him from the last place the castle sensors picked him up and fan out from there," Shiro instructed, shifting himself into an upright position and turned fully to the rest if them. His 'leadership pose', Lance had famously dubbed it.

"Blue?" he echoed. Was Shiro trusting Lance to join them?

Shiro's eyes caught his for a moment, holding, then something apologetic passed through their darkness and he was turning to Allura. "Princess. You will pilot Blue."

The floor completely dropped out from beneath Lance's feet, white light flashing over his vision as he shot to his feet and nearly sent himself sprawling again. 

" _No._ "

"I'm not risking your life for this." 

"That's sweet, but I'm not risking my place on the team." 

Shiro was still looking at Allura, who was staring wide eyed down him, her hands raised halfway to her mouth. "You're not risking your place, Lance. I'm making an executive decision to protect your life."

"Couldn't we just send one of the lions out?" Pidge asked, leaning up in her seat, a disconcertingly worried look on her face. "Surely we don't need all three just to find one Keith."

"If Keith's in trouble, especially if it's with the Galra, then we need backup. We need all three," Shiro argued.

"Then I'm piloting Blue," Lance cut in.

"No, you're not. You're staying here and regaining your strength. Lance, please, I'm not trying to cut you off the team," Shiro's eyes were back on him, a pleading look within them. "Look at yourself, you're practically thin as a leaf and you can hardly stand upright for more than twenty minutes. If you pilot Blue, then you'll be risking your life. So, yes, it'll be Allura," Shiro insisted, he'd begun to walk closer to Lance, his gaze softening slightly. When he was close enough he reached out a hand on Lance's shoulder, like he always did with Keith. Lance glanced at it suspiciously, annoyed at the way his useless body seemed to slant into the touch. "I'm sorry about what I said before, it was unfair. But I stand by what I'm saying now, you're staying here. Sitting out on one mission doesn't mean we're kicking you off the team, we just want to see you get better." 

Shiro's words were earnest enough, and Lance tried, he really did, not to feel slightly ticked off. But the annoyance still sat there, ugly and scornful inside him. Shiro's words vaguely reminded Lance of when he'd plainly chosen Keith over of him for the mission to the Marmorite base. It had hurt, the way he automatically overlooked everything Lance had said and turned to Keith instead. The feeling inside him was now similar to what he'd felt back then. He understood what Shiro was saying, he did, but he couldn't help but feel he was being overlooked again. Lance had given Allura the choice to kick him out of Blue if he ever let the team down, not Shiro.

But in the end, Shiro had a point. He always did.

Though, it didn't stop Lance's heart from cracking in two when he nodded his head with defeat, letting it hang towards the ground. Shiro's metal hand was still on his shoulder, bitingly cold through the material of his jacket.

 _Lance, no,_ he heard Allura inside his head. 

_He's right. Besides, I haven't tried piloting yet with my hands like this and can't just assume Blue will take over for me automatically._

He felt her devastation float by him, brushing up against his own.  _It will only be temporary,_ she assured.  _While you get your strength back._

Reaching up, he carefully peeled Shiro's hand away from his shoulder and lowered it back to his leader's side. Then he slowly sat back down in his seat, Shiro's regretful eyes following him all the way down, though Lance was busily staring to the side. He could feel everyone's pitiful gazes on him like brands on his body. 

_Please don't look at me. Not like that._

_I trust you,_ he said to Allura, and he meant it. But it still hurt. He'd felt distant to Blue lately, hadn't felt her as strongly wrapped around his mind like she usually was, and it was worrying him. He'd never been good with rejection, Hunk would know.  

Shiro moved off into the middle of the room again, though his posture looked wrong, slightly of kilter with a slump in his broad shoulders "Right. The rest of you get to your lions. Hunk, I'm riding with you."

There was a chorus of assent in the group. 

Lance closed his eyes. He was worried for Keith, for sure, but he knew the Red Paladin was capable of looking after himself. Honestly, the only reason Lance wanted to go was to ensure he was still part of the team, that same old insecurity of being useless rising to the surface again like a rotten egg.

He heard the movements of the others around him, shuffling, murmuring, doors opening and closing. Then there was a hand squeezing his shoulder, and Hunk's words: "Don't worry, buddy. Just rest for now." It was gone a second later. 

Then a hand sliding over top of his shaky one, grasping it tightly, and Pidge's sarcastic: "Doesn't even count as a mission seeing as we're just picking Keith up broken down on some highway. Peace out."

Then another hand on his cheek, sliding delicately over his slowly healing wound, and Allura's reassuring murmur: "I'll never replace you."

Finally, there was a hand ruffling his hair, and Shiro's command: "Just take it easy for a little while, okay? That's all we ask."

Lance's eyes remained closed the entire time, his team's words and touches like ghosts brushing up against him. Soon enough the room had gone silent after the whooshing of all the hanger doors. Everything was deathly silent, not a peep of sound—Coran having apparently disappeared as well—but Lance could still feel something at the back of his mind. It wasn't so much a noise, but a sensation, it was warm, almost hot, and kept prodding against his head like it was trying to get his attention.

An idea sparked inside him, a match suddenly lit up, and he was pulling himself out of his seat and setting off at a wobbly pace down the hall.

* * *

Acxa woke to the feeling of weightlessness, and then the pain of her head making contact with something cold and unforgiving. It was then she realised she was on the floor, having collapsed out of that Altean healing Pod again. She'd been in and out as the orange-haired one monitored her injuries. She'd been waiting for an interrogation she knew was sure to come, but they'd yet to confront her. 

Until now.

With a groan she glanced up, noticing a shadow swallowing her up from above. Acxa followed the long line of the lithe figure before her, right up from their feet, legs, torso and eventually, to their face. She squinted, her eyes still adjusting to the harsh fluoresce lights that shone over top of the figure, bathing their face in blinding light. When their face finally filtered through the light she gasped, as two familiar pin-point blue eyes stared back at her. He survived. But how? She'd seen people die from the same toxin before, it was quick and and no cure. 

Yet, here he was.

Acxa almost wanted to jump up and embrace him. _He's alive!_ _I didn't kill him._  Redemption was still a possibility.    

"I have a question for you," the Blue Paladin asked. It was then she noticed the knife in his hand. But it wasn't the knife that caught her attention, so much as the trembling grasp it sat in, and she didn't think it was fear that had it doing that. He didn't appear to have any control of the tremble. Perhaps surviving the toxin had cost him something else in return. It almost saddened her, he'd had such perfect, steady hands, practically designed for the weapon he wielded. "How did Lotor know Keith was Galra?" 

Of all the questions she'd been expecting, that wasn't one of them. When she tried to rise to her forearms she felt a shoe in the middle of her back, pushing her back down. It felt weak, in fact everything about him looked weak at the moment. Acxa would have no problem disarming him and making a break for it. But she was intrguied. She wanted to know more about this Keith. 

"Lotor knew someone who knew your lover's race," was all she gave, watching the boy's face twist oddly. 

"He's not— _we're_ not...that." It was adorable, the way his face began to bloom red. 

 _Not yet,_ she thought. 

"Lotor knew your  _comrade's_ race through someone else. That's all I know." 

"What about his mother?" 

"What?" 

His eyes narrowed. He thought she was lying. "Keith's mother. Lotor said he knew her." 

_His mother._

Lotor's words rung inside her head: _"Your **real**  mother," he emphasised. "She spoke fondly of you both, regretted having to leave the two of you behind. I can take you to her, if you'd like." _

Could he be the one Acxa had been searching for? She'd joked about it just before she thought he was going to kill her, but now, upon hearing this...

"Lotor only ever told us he knew through this informant, that's all. He never mentioned your comrade's mother. At least not to me." She tried to keep the interest out of her voice, tried to school herself the way Lotor had taught. But any mention of her family always had Acxa practically drooling for information. She knew Lotor would have her head for this (or would he? Seeing as he can't seem to kill, a question for later), but what did it matter if Voltron was probably going to kill her anyway? 

She could feel his shoe press down a fraction harder, then let up as his face evened out. "Okay, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now. I have a few more questions, though. I'm not going to give you too many details, but I need you to tell me if you know of any Galra trade routes in this area." He held up a screen in his opposite hand, which displayed their current coordinates on a map. A huge risk, for him to be showing her their location like this. She blanched when she realised where the were.  

"We're in the Terran quadrant?" 

"Obviously. What's it to you? Any Galra buddies around that might get a kick out of kidnapping innocent Paladins just minding their own idiotic business?" Something about the Paladin's tone struck her as being more friendly than the words against his comrade suggested. 

"We have no trades through this area, not currently."  _Stop giving him information just because you feel bad!_ "Not since Lotor took over for his father. But there is a contraband trade route that we could never put a stop to. If your... _comrade_ has been taken than it's likely someone from that route is the perpetrator." 

"Can you give me the coordinates for that route?" His foot left her back, which had begun to ache.

"You're going after him? You look like you're about to fall over," she commented scrutinisingly.

His face twisted to the side and he cocked a hip out. "Did I ask for your opinion? And if I look so weak and pathetic, why haven't you moved to take me out yet? You're all fresh and strong from your time in the Pod, what's your deal?"  

Acxa might as well come out with it straight. "I think your comrade and I are related. That's why Lotor never told me about his mother. I'm certain he tried the same thing on your comrade as he did on me years ago. He didn't want me to connect the dots." 

The Paladin's mouth fell open, his eyes bugging out of his head. "You what?" 

"I just told you." 

"You're kidding me, right? This is just another Galra scheme, isn't it?" 

"Why would I tell you if it was? Besides, Lotor's the one that comes up with all the schemes." 

"You're a lot more complex then I was expecting," he said, looking conflicted as he used the hand holding the screen to rub the back of his head and stepped backwards. Acxa slowly raised herself to her feet, watching his reactions to her movements carefully, wary of how unstable the knife was in his hands. 

"If you're going after your comrade, I'm coming with you," she decided.  _You're an idiot, Acxa._

"No way. You'll just try and snag Keith and run off with him back to your creepy boss so you can dress him up like your own Galra Barbie Doll. Put some purple ears on him etcetera, etcetera," he said, shaking his head adamantly.

"I won't."

"You will."

"I _won't._  If he's who I think he is, then I'll have no reason to go back to Lotor." 

"Why not?"

"Why do you think I joined him in the first place? Undying Galra loyalty? Yeah right, Lotor doesn't earn loyalty, he buys it. His payment has expired." _If you win the Paladin's trust, you could take him back to Lotor as your redemption card. He'll forgive you if you give him Blue,_ a slithering voice inside her head said. She banished away, but she could still feel it there, like an imprint on her skin. 

His eyes watched Acxa suspiciously, running all over her like he was searching for the lie. His hands seemed to shake even more as he watched her for several long moments. Then he shrugged. "I needed a pilot anyway."

That was...far too easy.Acxa watched his carefully constructed grin with speculation, getting the distinct impression that they were both playing some kind of game here. He looked far too comfortable with the idea of inviting one of Lotor's high ranking Commander's on a mission as his pilot. 

"There's just one thing," he added, a smirk hooking up the the right side of his a face, his blue eyes glinted something mirthful. 

* * *

Keith had been stuck inside a motionless Red for a day now, just floating, endlessly in space. He'd never been afraid of it until he had no control over where he was going. Suddenly felt the all consuming size of it swallow him up whole as he hung there helplessly. He understood now why Hunk and Lance had been so afraid of it at times.

Naturally, Keith had done every possible check of his lion, climbing into the back of her to look over the wiring, only to realise he knew nothing about wires, and switches, and technology in general. So he'd climbed back into the pilot's seat and tried everything he could to start her up again. He'd tried coaxing her out of her state, tried begging, demanding, ordering, begging again and then eventually just ended up yelling at her for three hours until his voice cracked.

Nothing.

She was like dead metal under his hands now. He didn't even have his Paladin suit.

God, he was dumb.

So, with nothing except time on his hands, he'd eventually taken to trying to get a few hours of sleep, seeing as it was probably the only time he'd ever get to. Unless he died in here, which would mean he'd get to do it for eternity. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant thought.

Sleeping often meant dreaming for Keith, and dreaming was often an incredibly vivid experience for him.

He dreamt about Shiro. It was more of a memory than anything, as Keith found himself settled into that musty old couch of his again, the familiar feel of Shiro's face under his palms as he leaned in to kiss him. Their first and last kiss (it had been at the time).

This time though, Shiro didn't push him gently away by the shoulders, giving him that regretful smile and devastating words. This time, his hands had wrapped around Keith's waist and pulled him closer. So...he was making out with dream Shiro. Great. Perhaps a month ago this would have been a very pleasant dream, but now, it only made him feel like he was doing something wrong, made his chest constrict painfully tight. Shiro was still pressing Keith closer to him though, and, eyes closed, Keith couldn't push him away. This was what he'd wanted all that time ago, right? He felt his cool hands rove over his back, beneath his shirt, felt Shiro's nose squish annoyingly against his own, the smooth brush of his cheek over his as he leant forwards to whisper something in Keith's ear.

"Is this better?"

That—that was not Shiro's voice. 

That high pitched, light-hearted, laughing tone. That belonged to someone else entirely. 

As if answering him, the body before him pulled back, revealing Lance's smirking face. He was healthy again, skin darker, eyes brighter, face fuller. He practically glowed with it, and it left Keith breathless. Left him raising his hands to Lance's face, touching the smooth skin with hesitant fingers. 

_Lance._

_Alive._

_Lance._

_Here. Under my hands._

_Lancelancelancelancelance._

Something whispered inside his head. 

_Take him in your hands. Search for his pulse. Follow it everywhere. Listen to his breath—his heartbeat. Take his skin in your mouth, swallow him down—his life. Consume him._

Keith had never been very good at ignoring his instincts, and he wasn't going to start now.

He dove forwards, hands fastening on Lance's cheeks, and captured those smirking lips beneath his own. Lance didn't hesitate, like he usually did, but met Keith in the middle, cool against against his burning skin. Keith pressed himself close to the other boy, revelling in the feeling of Lance's _steady_  hands coming around to his shoulders as they collapsed backwards. Keith bowed over top of Lance, body arched and taught. Dragging his lips quickly away from Lance's, he found that pulse of his and buried himself in there, mouth closing over it like he wanted to consume it.

He did. Oh, he did.

Lance was wearing his stupid blue and white shirt. It was in the way. Keith wanted it gone.

So, a moment later it was gone, and his hands were on his bare skin. It didn't feel like enough though, he thought, feeling Lance arch up into him as they slotted together. His hot breath dragged further down, gliding over the centre column of Lance's neck, from his chin all the way to between his collarbones. Lance made a pleased noise inside his throat, which Keith felt vibrate through the point where his lips touched his skin, felt it shutter into his own body. Keith wished he could drink that voice in, have it all for himself. 

_Still not enough._

Even as Keith touched everything, tasted his skin, felt his breath on top his head, heard his heartbeat under his ear. 

_Not enough. Take more. Get closer. Under the skin, inside him. Know nothing but Lance. Feel him all over you._

His mouth was hovering over Lance's brown stomach now, no sign of those wretched claw marks, and was caught between another kiss and his anxiety over still not being close enough. Lance noticed his pause and made an enquiring noise, shifting onto one of his elbows as his other hand weaved itself into Keith's hair. He looked down at Keith, who was prowling low over his body. Lance's eyes were blown wide, the blue only a thin ring around his pupil. Keith caught a glimmer of something else inside those eyes. It caught his attention, and had him freezing in place, Lance's body gasping beneath him. Up, down, up, down, up, down. 

Inside those eyes, he saw—

He saw—

He saw— 

Himself. His own eyes staring right back at him, through Lance's. But they weren't dark and stormy, like they were when he looked in the mirror. No. Inside those eyes he saw two yellow ones glowing bright and frightening right back at him. Galra yellow and—

He was woken up when he felt Red jerk beneath him, gasping as the dream was torn away from him, leaving him reeling and confused. He could still feel Lance under his hands, still hear his breath, and heartbeat, and could still see  _those eyes_. Yellow. Glara. Yellow.  _Galra._

Red jerked again, and he shot upright in his seat, his heart beating something rapid inside him.  _She's back,_ he began to whoop excitedly, and had his hands on the controls a moment later, pressing them forwards. But she didn't move. In fact, the cockpit was still dim, no screens, no lights. Nothing. Disappointment was like a sharp, jagged rock inside his stomach, sinking deep, catching painfully at the edges.

There was one thing different, however. Outside his view screen there was a ship, large and rickety looking. It reminded him of a pirate ship, funnily enough; a large bow sweeping down on the bottom and various compartments slotted in on the top. It was grey and ugly. A shipwreck in space, practically falling apart by the seams. But it still had a tractor beam, which narrowed in on him and Red, green and daunting, and began to reel them in.

Keith thought it was just his luck to get kidnapped by literal space pirates. 

At least he knew it was something that would make Lance laugh if he lived to tell him about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> So Acxa here is a little different to Acxa in the show, but I had a plan from her since before I started watching it so *shoulder shrug* 
> 
> Follow me on:  
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean
> 
> Again, forgive me for any grammar mistakes. I try! But I have tired eyes. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, please enjoy!


	5. Thirty-One + 12: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coran has some regrets. Lance dislikes smart ass Galra's. Shiro consults Hunk. Keith has a lot of time to reflect.

Coran had a feeling, from the moment he stepped out of the bridge, throwing one last cursory glance at the boy, that Lance had a plan tucked under his belt. He could see it in the way his eyes widened, before hardening a moment later, solid as steel—the spark of an idea, and then the weight of the decision. By the looks of it, Lance didn't think it was a plan the others would like. 

Coran had been worried when he heard the doors slam shut behind him, and had the odd feeling that it might be the last time he saw Lance for some time. It was the same feeling he'd had when Lance and Keith both ran out of that very room weeks ago now—as he'd been standing there, certain he wouldn't see the Blue Paladin for a while. Only this time Coran had left the room.

The desire to bolt back inside and tie Lance to his chair to prevent any bad decisions being made was agonising, however, he knew it wasn't his place to meddel. 

He was an advisor, there only to advise for or against decisions like these. He wasn't there to make their decisions for them. Besides, judging by the boy's face, there was nothing Coran could have done to dissuade him from doing whatever it was he was about to do. 

It was why, now, he swallowed against the bitter taste of regret as he watched one of the pods launch out of the bay doors, hurtling away through space at top speed and then blinking out of existence. He was certain that Lance was inside that pod, driven by whatever it was that had its hooks in him towards his fellow Paladin. Something was in play here beyond Coran's control, and he'd be a fool to get between it all. Voltron, the lions, the Paladins—they were beyond his reach. Allura, now too, it seemed. 

Coran knew it wasn't his place but, a father once, he'd attached a tracker to that very pod before it launched, knowing exactly which one the Blue Paladin would choose. Coran had seen him choose his plates, his pens, tools and anything else. Lance always chose something second to the left. So, Coran had chosen the pod second from the left in the pod bay, feeling guilt trickle through him as he fastened it to the belly of the craft. He just...couldn't stand the thought of losing another Paladin, so he'd reacted, despite his better judgement. 

At least, he could have some peace of mind this way. 

So, now he watched, worry like a disease inside him, ugly and dark, just praying that everything would turn out for the best. Always left alone here to fret, just like a father. 

* * *

"I should have guessed you'd have something nasty up your sleeve," the Galra said with contempt as they shot out the bay doors. Lance was surprised Coran hadn't put the castle on lockdown to keep him in, but was grateful for that not being the case. 

His lip curled up as he watched her face scowl down at the metal band on her wrist, hugging her purple skin snuggly. Looking at it brought him sick satisfaction that he should probably be concerned over, but he was too pleased with himself at this point.

"Fitting, right? Seeing as what your boss did to me. In comparison, this is mercy. You'll only be paralysed for a couple hours if I press this button," he grinned, holding up the small coin sized object in his hand. He felt powerful at the way her shoulders hunched down, her eyes avoiding him. His grin widened.

"I wasn't the one that put that capsule inside you, you know. I was on Earth the entire time."

"You work for the bastard, so that puts you in the same category," Lance waved a hand.

" _Worked_ ," she corrected.

Lance watched her for a moment, her hands gripping the controls deathly tight, the purple skin on her hands turning white at the knuckles, her strange hair a mess and eyes narrowed into slits on the screen before her. Leaning back and propping his feet on the dashboard in front of him, hands behind his head, Lance scrutinised her with a twisted face. The Galra looked disappointed, ashamed even, like she'd let herself (or someone else) down. He had an inkling.

"You failed him, didn't you? You were supposed to kill me. But you couldn't do it. You missed me in the window on purpose. And you got captured, I doubt he'll be pleased with you for that," he said, taking a sip of the juice box in his hands, felt it curdle like bad milk in his stomach. Damn his useless body. An unpleasant thought suddenly shot through him. "I have a question. If he sent you to kill me, does that mean the button he had was only a ploy? Was he lying?"

_Did I act like that for nothing?_

She didn't respond for a moment, kept her eyes firmly ahead. Then she blinked, slowly, head lowering and her eyes opening a moment later. The gesture had Lance reeling with the familiarity of it. It was exactly what Keith did before he decided on something, his eyes closing and his head bowed.     

"It wasn't a lie. It would have triggered capsule, Lotor simply couldn't press it," the Glara said, slowly. 

"Why didn't he press it?" 

Again, a pause, a blink—that slump in the shoulders. A decision. "He was talked out of it by the witch. She convinced him there was a better way for you to die. More traumatising for you all." Her voice was low.

Lance's breath caught as realisation dawned. He felt even sicker than before. " _Keith_. He wanted Keith to be the one who broke it."

Something dark flashed over her expression. There, and gone a second later. She nodded.

"Your boss is a sick fuck. Why would you work for him?"

Her face twisted, and she finally turned to him, stormy eyes harsh and flat. There was literally no way she _wasn't_ relate to Keith. "I told you, he bought my loyalty with an offer I couldn't refuse. The same way he tried to buy your lov—your  _comrade's_ loyalty." 

Lance threw his head back in his seat with a groan. "God, I never should have gone with that lie. Now you all think Keith and I share a bed, braid each other's hair and say all that cheesy shit to each other. No way. Keith is the last person I'd do that with."

"Could have fooled me," he heard her whisper under her breath.

He had a retort ready on his tongue, but realised snapping at her would probably only make him look pathetic and defensive. Decidedly  _not_ the kind of characteristics he wanted to display right now. He shifted in his seat, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in his armour. It pressed up against his neck, rubbed at the skin and put pressure on his windpipe. Without his bayard he felt defenceless, too, despite being equipped with an Altean rifle he'd found in a dusty weapon's storage room.

He'd allowed Allura to take his bayard, and only regretted it 50% of the time. Right now, he was sitting in the other 50% of regret. Repositioning the rifle on his lap, so its head faced the Galra next to him, a threat despite his casualness, Lance fought away the creeping tiredness.

A flicker.   

There'd been a feeling poking at the back of his mind, ever since that ugly spat with Shiro on the deck. It sat there, poking at him, feather light, and whispered wordlessly into his ear. It had led him here, like he had a rope attached to his wrist and it was tugging from the other end. He could feel it now, a warm breath at the back of his neck, getting warmer the further away the got from the castle. He'd never really been one to follow his instincts, that was Keith's department, but he was now. Again, he only 50% regretted it.  

"You looked like you were kissing when I took that shot, that's half the reason I missed," the Galra next to him muttered, face now looking out her screens again, eyes studiously avoiding him. "It was cute." 

_Fuckingfuck._

"Oh my  _God_! Will you just shut up and drive!" 

The next two hours were silent. 

* * *

Shiro had a bad feelings about things at the best of times, but now it was practically eating up him up from the inside out. He grit his face against the corrosive feeling and braced his hand on the back of Hunk's seat, watching the screens in front of him flicker from one thing to another.  

Hunk, being the perceptive person he was, picked up on Shiro's dilemma immediately, his heard swivelling around to look up at him. His eyes were dark and concerned. "Is something wrong, Shiro? I mean, like, more than usual?" he asked nervously, breaking off into an awkward laugh. 

Shiro had never spent much time with the Yellow Paladin, mostly because their personalities were the two opposite ends of a scale. Hunk spent most of his time with Lance and Pidge, joking about things he didn't understand, while Shiro kept himself occupied with either Keith or Allura. They simply had alternate interests which kept them apart most of their downtime. Though, recently they'd found training together exceptionally useful, as they were able to test out their full strength on each other, without restraint. But other than that, they didn't talk much. It was the same with Lance. Asides from sometimes consoling with him about their anxieties, Lance and Shiro didn't often spend time together. It made Shiro worry, that he wasn't in tune enough with two members of his team, and perhaps it was the reason he and Lance had that argument.

"I'm fine, Hunk," he lied. His entire world felt flipped on its back since Black rejected him. "I—I actually just have a question for you." 

Turning back to his controls, Hunk nodded. "Shoot away." 

"Do you know what Lance feels towards Keith right now? I can get a read on Keith's feelings, but I can't read Lance. I thought perhaps you might have an idea. I just...want to understand him. Both of you, really," Shiro said, feeling the way the words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and strained. 

Hunk's response was slow, thought out. "I have an idea, yes. But you're not asking the question right." 

"What do you mean?" 

"You're asking this in regard to Keith, so you're making it about him. I know that you just want to get a read on Lance, but you're approaching it wrong. You can't turn this into another Keith thing. That's Lance's worst nightmare, that he's just another stepping stone for Keith," Hunk responded, his voice heavy. Shiro saw his point—saw the flaw in how he approached this and immediately felt bad. When it came to Hunk and Lance, he really had no clue.

He just wasn't used to people like them. 

"You're right," he said, hand tightening on the seat, his fingers digging into the padding. "H—how should I ask the question, then?" he tried. 

"Ask what Lance was like before Voltron. Show an interest in his past." 

"Okay," Shiro said slowly. "What was your friendship like with him in the past?" he asked, watching Hunk's reaction closely, so he saw the slight downwards arch of his brows. 

"It was good, man. Really good. It was easy, fun and comfortable. We met at orientation, I was really uncomfortable and anxious that day, and he'd just been there to make it easier for me. I could tell he knew something was wrong, but he didn't say anything, just worked his butt off to make me laugh at least once every five minutes. He gets your mind off things, ya know?"

Shiro nodded. "I know...Tell me more, please. About both your lives." 

"I'll leave Lance's life to him, but I could tell you about the Garrison," Hunk said, his face was relaxed, but Shiro could see the tension there between his brows. 

"Please." He just wanted to understand. 

"Alright. First thing you need to understand is—don't tell him I told you this—but he had a massive hero, worship crush on you. Wouldn't shut up about you. For hours on end it would be, 'Shiro did this. Shiro did that. Shiro trains like this. Shiro flew like that,' and on and on it went. He even had cut outs of you from the Garrison newsletter. He literally wanted to be you. So, he worked his butt of, threw himself into everything he did, whether or not he actually knew what he was doing. I was the opposite. I was hesitant, kinda looked around every corner before I went, ya know? The flight simulator scared the shit out of me and I never really committed myself to anything beyond my engineering classes. I was afraid to fail at anything else I tried. Lance isn't afraid to fail. That was the difference between us, and I guess it's why we fitted together so well. We made up for whatever the other was lacking."

"You're close," Shiro commented, like an idiot. No duh, they were close. 

Hunk nodded. "We're close. And because of that we know, in a lot of detail, what each other's flaws are; where to hit if you want to hurt us most." His face took on a certain gravity as he said this, everything collapsing. "When you were gone, everyone began to stray away from each other. Pidge stopped talking, and started cooking atrocious food. I think she liked the feeling of her hands being busy, but didn't want to touch her equipment. It reminded her that she was failing. Failing you, and her family. Keith just wandered the halls aimlessly, for days on end, his face blank. He was like a ghost, man. I began to train a lot, and probably didn't eat as much as I should have. Allura cut her hair and suddenly stopped seeing herself as worthy of her title. Coran, disappeared a lot. Lance...Lance was the only one who tried, who fought against his own sadness. He hates feeling sad. He hates it for himself, and for others. Shit, he tried, for all our sakes, to keep up his usual bounciness. Keith used him. Pidge snapped at him. I insulted him, badly. Allura was probably the only one who didn't hurt him in some way."

Shiro could see where this was going, could sense the beginnings of an attack at the edges of his nerves. He braced. 

"So, when you fucking accused him of using Keith, it meant all of us, his _team_ , had attacked him in some way. He gets flighty when he feels like he's being ganged up on, bullying and all back in the Garrison. So, of course he blew up at you. Not everything he says and does has to be related back to Keith. He's his own person. He's kind, funny, strong, adaptable, perceptive and a billion other amazing things. And I know you know that, I do. But if you even dare try accusing him of using _any_ of us again, I won't stay quiet this time. I hurt him before, he hurt me, and I nearly murdered him because I doubted him. Trust me when I say this, doubting Lance is the worst mistake you could ever possibly make." 

At this point Shiro had closed his eyes, feeling his eyes burn, and scrunched his brows tightly together. He knew he deserved this, knew the way he'd treated Lance was inconsiderate, and understood it was within Hunk's rights to defend his friend. He'd shamelessly pointed out Shiro's own bias.

"I still don't know if I trust your decision to put Keith in charge in your absence—he was a massive dick, not that I helped, really—but Lance seems to have started to trust him, and I owe it to Lance to trust _him_. Just, trust Lance. Keith running off is no one's fault except his own." Hunk took a breath, seemingly done with his barrage. Shiro could see the way the Yellow Paladin's leg was shaking, a habit that usually happened when he was nervous or angsty. "Also, I'm pretty sure I swore like three times there, so please don't be mad," he finished, eyes flicking up to Shiro apprehensively. 

Shiro tapped his knuckles against Hunk's helmet with a chuckle. "I'll be nice and let you off with a warning this time."

Hunk grinned. 

His words rang through Shiro's head, echoing long after they were gone. He felt a fraction better, knowing Hunk was willing to confront him with issues like this directly. However, his stomach was still squeezing with apprehension. _Something'swrongsomething'swrongsomething'swrong,_ it repeated, this anxiety, as they approached the last place Red's signal could be located to, and found...nothing. No Red. Absolutely nothing. Something was terribly wrong.

Honestly, Shiro wished things could have simply been easy for once. Wished they'd found Red there with a brooding Keith inside. 

But that was wishful thinking, and Voltron had no place for it.

* * *

Keith remembered the first time he heard Lance's name back in the Garrison.

He'd known about Lance a lot longer than Lance had known about him, though he'd never admit it.

It was their first week and they'd been taken to a Military base for a camp as an introduction, though Keith hadn't seen any point to it. All he'd wanted at the time was to get in the pilot's seat and take off, leaving the world behind him. It'd been day two of the camp and he'd overheard the whispers of a couple girls during breakfast.  

_"Did you see him shoot?" one of them asked in that twisty tone people always used when they gossiped, like everything was a big deal. Keith ignored it. Well, he tried. But it was difficult when they were sitting right beside you. "He made all three shots. Like, perfect aim and everything. Not even the instructor made those shots."_

_"No, what's his name? I was in the other group," the other girl answered, her voice curving with interest._

_"Lance McClain. Seriously, if he wasn't so skinny I might have asked him out on a date afterwards. Just not my type, ya know?" This comment vaguely annoyed Keith. It was petty and ridiculous._

_"Isn't he the one who was locked in the drop-toilet by Danny and his friends? He was left in there for like two hours and when he came out he smelt like shit, even after he showered," the friend laughed. Keith caught the mirthful glimmer inside her eyes. He liked girls most of the time, they were generally kind enough and smelled a lot nicer, but then you came across ones like these and it reminded you how cruel people could be. Boys or girls, there were always cruel ones. He wanted to argue, tell them both to shut up and leave this guy alone but, a reputation to hold up, Keith remained brooding in his corner._

_"That's him. Bit of an idiot. But his face is nice enough, and after I saw what those hands could do...Perhaps I could make an exception."_

_Oh fuck no._

_"Oh my God, you're so sly, Alisha. I don't know if I should be concerned for him or you."_

_Keith got the fuck out of there, his chair scraping harshly against the floor as he pushed away, swiped his apple and made a break for the door. As usual, many curious glances were cast his way—a result of being labelled the year level's honorary 'loner emo.' He saw a couple people lean over to whisper in each other's ears, eyes cutting like the edge of a blade._

_He'd ignored them all, heart in his throat from self-consciousness, and stormed all the way outside into the courtyard. He was breathing hard, still feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on him. He usually waited until everyone else left before he exited, so as to avoid anyone looking his direction. It didn't seem to help, though, people were always staring at him, and he had no idea why. He only knew that it made him want to run away._

_So, he stormed all the way to the opposite side of the camp, towards a row of buildings that he could hide behind. He'd just settled against the side of one of them, the blistering sun hot on his back, when he heard a single shot come from close by. It cut through his anxious thoughts, scattering them to the ground._

_His head whipped around, hair in his face, to look towards the direction it had come from. It was then he noticed he was leaning against the shed of the shooting range, the crooked sign hanging limply off one nail._

_Interest got the better of him so, standing up again, he crept around the front, his feet creaking against the wood on the veranda, and pushed open the door of the shed. Inside he saw two people: one of the camp coordinators and a boy. He was obviously a student; plain looking, golden brown skin, brown hair, long legs and arms. A proper teenager, all gangly and awkward looking. Keith could only see the back of him, saw the way his thin shoulders set themselves determinedly as he lined up the rifle for another shot._

_The sound of him pulling the trigger exploded through Keith's ears, leaving them ringing. His eyes tracked from the boy's back all the way to the target, where he could see a hole right in the centre of the bullseye, a twirl of smoke left behind like a whisper of what just happened. Then the boy laughed, a high-pitched, unconcerned sound, as if he'd just heard a great joke and not just made a deadly accurate shot. He turned to his side to look at the instructor, who was speaking to him avidly, smiling. The boy responded with not only his words, but his hands too, as he placed the weapon down carefully and began gesturing as he spoke._

_'This must be Lance,' Keith thought, as he saw the sureness in the way this boy handled his hands, as if he knew exactly where they were and where they were going at all times. Even as they flailed everywhere while he spoke, he seemed to be in perfect control, had some kind of meticulous plan of their path. Keith was instantly enraptured._

_He'd stepped forwards, but flinched when the floorboard under him creaked with agonising volume. Lance's head twisted to face him, and Keith froze with terror, felt his face drain of colour as two pin-point blue eyes fastened onto him. Keith waited for a scowl, or curled lip, or anything remotely anxiety inducing, but nothing came. Lance only rose a delicate brow and grinned pleasantly._

_"Pretty good, right?" he said, shooting a couple of finger-guns at Keith._

_Keith nodded dumbly, still confused about why the kid wasn't scowling at him for sneaking up like this. "Umm, yeah. Not bad."_

_"I wouldn't go so far to call me a natural or anything, but I'm a natural."_

_Keith's cheeks grew warm. "Yeah..."_

_A moment later he was turning around and ducking out of there so fast he could feel the air rushing by his ears. He ran all the way back to his cabin, thankful for the fact none of the other boys there now, and dove onto his bed, feeling his heart race a million miles an hour. His ribs hurt._

_But it wasn't out of anxiety this time; he was flustered. Felt it in the heat of his cheeks and butterflies in his stomach. It was the same feeling he got whenever Shiro looked at him, and it made him nervous because he thought no one else could make him feel like that. But upon seeing the boy's hands, after seeing him shoot with such accuracy, something in Keith slipped free, like a loose stone under a boot, and came tumbling down. It made him feeling unstable, and giddy and excited._

He'd decided from that day on he'd studiously ignore and avoid Lance at all costs. He seemed to have forgotten about Keith altogether anyway, so it became easy. He'd sat at the front of class everyday so he'd never have to be forced to stare at him for hours on end. He ducked out of class before the rest of them had even packed up their stuff. He hid by himself in an empty hallway during lunch breaks, sneaking his phone out to text Shiro. If Lance looked his way when they crossed paths, he jerked his chin in the other direction. Simple as that. Dodge and evade. Slowly, but surely, over two years, he'd forgotten all about Lance. 

Then Shiro had disappeared, and everything around him began to crumble to bits. With his dad gone and his mother MIA, Keith had nothing to support him during this time. Had never made any friends, had no other family, no siblings, cousins or _anything_.

So, he'd crashed and burned. Had gotten caught slipping into the simulator late one night by Iverson and got his butt firmly booted out of the Garrison with the word 'dropout' stapled onto his forehead for eternity. A year of misery in the desert had followed, nothing but the name _Shiro_  going through his head. It had been such a lonely time in his life, and he often thought back to the boy with steady hands, _Lance_ , with regret.

He'd smiled so invitingly at Keith, and it probably would have been easy for him to simply grin back and forge a new friendship. He'd seen the way Lance had interacted with Hunk, the friendly arms over his shoulder, the knowing grins, the easy way they talked to each other. Keith had missed out on all of that. The thought often left him sitting on his musty couch, the smell thick and terrible in his nose, shaking with the sheer weight of loneliness. The only thing that fought off these fits was tracking the energy Blue had been giving off, and finding Shiro.

He'd _missed_ Lance during that time—though he'd be damned if he ever admitted it, reputation to uphold and all—and he'd remained a constant reminder of what Keith had missed out on in the Garrison. _Friendship._  Therefore, he'd been so utterly surprised when Lance walked through those doors to rescue Shiro that faithful night, his eyes narrow and furious with accusation. The complete opposite of how he'd first looked at Keith all that time ago, and it had knocked him back a step. _The hatred_. It was almost tangible in the air.

So, Keith had responded automatically.

 _"Who are you?"_          

_I know who you are._

_"Are you an engineer?"_

_You're the best shot I've ever seen._

_"You're a Cargo Pilot."_

_You're my biggest regret._

Somehow over the course of three years Lance had gone from smiling at Keith with gentle invitation, to scowling at him, like his very existence brought him nothing but pain. He knew why now, of course. Lance had made that painfully clear, the amount of strife Keith had accidently brought to him just by existing. 

Keith didn't want to bring Lance pain anymore. He'd had enough of being the epicentre of it all for him, but it seemed like it was the only thing he was capable of doing. 

He thought about this as he sat motionless inside Red within the hanger of the pirate ship, three figures standing in front of her with watchful expressions. He couldn't tell much about them, besides the fact they were all  _aliens._ He'd been in here for a few hours now, refusing to budge and Red, at least, had the dignity to raise her particle barrier to shield them from Keith. He could remain in here for another day at least, but after that he'd run out of the food and water rations that were stored inside the cockpit. And these people looked happy to wait. 

God, this was humiliating, being caught by space pirates inside an unresponsive lion. Shiro would berate him for days (if he lived). And Lance would be worrying right now, as he did for all his teammates. As he did for _Keith_ , even after he'd treated Lance like shit for eighteen days. Still followed Keith onto Lotor's ship just to keep him in check. And here he goes again, causing Lance pain, and at the worst possible time. Right as he was relying on Keith to train him.

Why was it so easy to let Lance down? Was it karma for not taking up his first opportunity to become his friend?

It was highly likely.

 _"Paladin of Voltron," croaky_ a voice came from below.  _"I'd highly recommend exiting the lion. We know you're in there. You don't want to starve."_

Keith might have told them to fuck off but with his lion dead and all, he couldn't transmit his voice to them.  

He could see all three of them talking to each other, huddling in a group as they discussed some kind of plan. One of them, a scaly woman with ears like a cat, looked back up to his lion. Keith couldn't see her eyes, but he imagined they would have been glaring at him.  

 _"Our boss just wants to have a few words with you. If you comply, we'll let you go, no harm done."_ Keith didn't believe that for a second, but he also had no other options. His lion was dead and he'd have to come out eventually. He had no where to go.

"C'mon," he sighed, leaning back in his seat. He wished Lance were here. Or Shiro, or Pidge, or Hunk. _Anyone._ They'd know what to do. Keith was clueless about this sort of stuff. He was fight or flight, not smile and wave. 

_"You must be hungry. We have food for you, and water. The records we have of humans tell us you need water or you'll die very soon. We'd rather not let that happen."_

Wait, how did they know he was human? Or have any knowledge of humans in the first place? Keith was instantly on edge, felt suspicion burn low in his chest.

_"She just wants to ask you a question."_

Some mumbling between the three of them, a short furry man gesturing wildly with his hands to the scaly woman. Keith noted the eyepatch over his eye with some humour.

This time he spoke. " _She's looking for someone. You might know them. They're from Earth"_

A pause. 

 _"She's looking for her son."_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Ahhhhh, got this one done early before Game of Thrones bc it's a loooong episode. 
> 
> Enjoy!! xoxoxox


	6. Thirty-One + 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith needs a piss, not something he was proud of. Lance can't slip Earth references under Acxa's nose like he can with Alteans. Lotor hates the desert.

In the end, it was Keith's desperation to go to the bathroom which had him crawling out of Red, though he remained firmly behind the particle barrier until he was certain he wouldn't be killed on sight. He sat on the top of her head, having slammed the lid down on her emergency exit much harder than necessary as he crawled out, and glared down at the three aliens below him. He didn't trust them, not one bit. 

_She's looking for her son._

It rang too familiar a bell for Keith and had him backing the hell up as soon as the words left the furry guy's mouth. He was sure it had been at least three hours since then, which meant it must be well past midnight on the castle's scheduled day. He sincerely hoped the team had just decided he was an idiot and they were all tucked away in bed so he didn't bother him. Hoped they would just continue with their plan to rescue Kolivan instead. He hoped? More like he prayed. But he knew his team better than he knew himself at times. They'd be out searching for him, no doubt. He only prayed they'd had enough sense to leave Lance behind, and that Lance had enough self-preservation to obey. But he had a bad feeling, felt it brush against the back of his spine like a delicate pair of fingers. 

"We promise not to hurt you," the scaly woman tried again, her voice twisting with annoyance. Over time, they'd begun to become more believable. Their insistence was admirable, having yet to resort to any kind of forceful tactics, and they'd even gone so far as to pull out a table and pile it high with an assortment of food and a jug of water to try and goad Keith out. His desperation to use the bathroom didn't exactly help his opinion either. He made bad (worse) decisions when his bladder was screaming at him to take a piss. He had too much pride to relieve himself here, though.

No way would he let a bunch of space pirates see him take a piss on his own lion. He'd rather die.  

So, desperate and all, he spoke to them for the first time. 

"Disarm yourselves and place your weapons at the edge of the barrier, then step back ten meters," he instructed, arms crossed, his thigh jiggling as he tried to ignore the burning in his bladder. Though, it mostly only served to make it worse.  

"Meters?" the third asked, who Keith couldn't tell the gender (or anything at all) of due to a long, dark robe draped over their entire body. 

Keith growled with frustration. Measurement language barriers were a pain. "Take twenty steps back. When I come out, if even one of you so much as moves a muscle, I'll step straight back in again."

The three of them turned to each other and huddled in again, whispering and casting Keith a few suspicious glances until they finally seemed to come to a consensus. 

"Alright," agreed the blue, furry man. Keith still couldn't see their expressions very well, but he got the feeling this guy was glaring daggers at him. "So long as you agree to the same terms. Any weapons you may have hidden must be left behind."

"Deal." Keith only had his Marmora blade anyway. However, the thought of giving it up sent a spike of panic through him, straight through his chest. Apart from his time on the Blade's base, he'd never willingly given it up before, and the thought of leaving it behind now left him feeling like he was abandoning an important part of himself. 

But he had no choice. He really fucking needed to use the bathroom. Making to clear he was leaving his blade behind, he held it high above his head before opening Red's hatch and dropping it inside, at least comforted by the fact the she would keep it safe for him. She might have been ignoring him, but she wasn't a complete asshole. Climbing down her front leg, Keith slowly made his way towards the edge of the barrier, watching as the three pirates stripped themselves of a variety of swords, knives, guns, explosives and various other dangerous looking items. The scaly woman even pulled out a thin dagger from between a flap of scales on her side, like ingrown pockets inside her own body.

_Gross._

When they had seemingly finished piling up their rather envious assortment of weapons in front of the barrier, Keith counted each step they took backwards.  _Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen aaannnnd twenty._ It was now or never, he supposed. Red's barrier created a small opening for him to duck under, and as he did he kicked the pile of weapons inside, watching the way the faces screwed up in disapproval, but they didn't move to stop him. A second later the barrier came down again, the buzz of energy sharp in Keith's ears. 

Keith stood alone, unarmed and vulnerable, and in terrible need of a piss in front of a bunch of space pirates. He shifted uncomfortably between his feet, trying desperately not to hold his knees together against the burning sensation of his bladder.  

"Uhh," he started. He wanted to smack himself for sounding so weak and pathetic. "Before we do anything, is there any chance you have a bathroom on this ship?" 

The blue, furry guy tilted his head quizzically at Keith, who now realised his one visible eye was glowing pink and he had two fluffy ears peeping out of his dark, unruly hair. He looked young, too, around Keith's age. He might have thought he was Galra were it not for the fact he was blue, not purple. Galra were kind of distinctive that way. 

"What's a bathroom?" he asked.

Oh, Jesus H. Christ

* * *

 _Lance,_ he heard someone say inside his head, feeling the familiar sensation of his consciousness becoming wrapped together with someone else's. Though, it was weaker this time, as it had been getting ever since his first day back on the castle, more like a faint whisper in his ear now and he could only hold the connection for a couple minutes at most.

 _Lance,_ Allura repeated, her voice tinged with worry. 

He sighed in his seat, which prompted the Galra to cast him a strange look, but he was used to that by now. Used to all those strange looks he got from people. Telepathic powers or not; people always thought he was weird.

 _I'm here, Allura. How goes the search for our designated hot-head?_ If he kept her talking as much as possible he may be able to avoid the barrage of questions she was sure to dump on him. He considered himself a decent liar, however, he wasn't sure how well it would translate when Allura was literally inside his brain. 

_Thus far it's been unsuccessful. We tracked him to his last known location, but we found nothing. We're splitting up now to continue the search. How are you? Getting some rest, I hope._

_Trying,_ he responded, slowly. Apparently, Coran hadn't alerted them to his departure. Lance hoped it wouldn't get the man in trouble with the others.

Allura's answer was delayed.  _I'm going to take your word for it. I expect you to eat as well as you can and keep up your fluids while we're gone. And don't you dare try and train without Coran there to keep an eye on you._

 _I'm not a child,_ he bit back, clenching his fists together tightly, the shaking intensifying. 

He could feel her irritation faintly, though the feeling was fading quickly— _Allura_ was fading. It frightened Lance, the idea of suddenly be left alone inside his own head again. _I know. But can you honestly tell me that you would have done any of those things if I hadn't reminded you?_

He met her with defiant silence, turning his head to the side like Allura was next to him, not the Galra. 

 _See?_ she teased. 

 _Stop gloating._ At least he was distracting her. 

 _Never._ Her voice was so faint now he could hardly hear it, found himself leaning forwards as if trying to hear her more clearly. The Galra was still giving him concerned glances.  _I'll leave you to get some rest and update you on any developments with our search for Keith._

He was about to answer her when he felt the connection snap, like an elastic band, sending him flinching back in his seat with a gasp as white light flashed across his vision. There was a sharp pain in the back of his head. 

_No._

_Allura!?_

_Hey! Testing, testing! C'mon!_

Nothing. Their link was gone for now and perhaps forever. He could still vaguely feel Blue's cool presence in the back of his mind, but that was slowly fading, too. It had his heart thundering in his chest and the blood rushing to his ears. _What's happening to me? Am I being rejected by Blue? Like Shiro?_ Ironically, his only reaction to that at this point was,  _at least I won't be the only one dumped by a lion._

"Are you okay, Blue?" the Galra asked. 

"Don't call me that. My name's Lance," he snapped, feeling his temper fray at the ends in the face of this new and terrible development. He stared stonily out the window, feeling the Galra's gaze burn into the side of his head.

"Okay, _Lance._ But, again, are you okay?"

" _I'm just fine..._ " he grit out between clenched teeth.   

"Acxa," she supplied.

"Almost as bad as the name Keith," he commented, using the sarcasm as a distraction from the curdling sensation in his gut. Blue couldn't reject him, right? Not after saving him? It made no sense. 

"Wow, who crawled and died up your ass to make you this shitty?" Acxa scoffed, shaking her head. 

That...was an extremely Earth-like thing to say, and it caught Lance off-guard, had him swinging his head around to face her with wide eyes and gaping mouth. Her own stormy eyes caught his, then flickered down to the weapon he had laid out on his lap, his shaky hands resting over the trigger and its head pointed straight at her stomach. His hands may be worthless, but even he could make a shot from this distance. She considered it for a moment, as if she were weighing up some kind of risk inside her head, then met his eyes again.

"I was originally from Earth," she shrugged. "What of it?" Acxa didn't quite look as casual as she was aiming for; her lower lip pulled downwards and one of her hands brushed away her fringe from her eyes.  

His mouth didn't close, in fact, if possible, it fell even further open. Logically speaking it made sense, but somehow these things—Pidge being a girl, Keith being Galra etcetera, etcetera—surprised him more than he expected. He realised that this was likely why people thought he was so stupid half the time—these over the top reactions of his to anything remotely surprising screamed stupidity. It was a front he gave off, a mask, and he couldn't seemed to shake it. It was as though he was hiding behind it.  

Acxa watched him with an uncomfortable expression, eyebrows drawing inwards and her eyes tracking to her screens again as she tapped out a few things on her controls. "Where did you live?" he asked eventually.

"Does it matter?"

"You're the one that asked me 'what of it', I thought it was a good conversation starter. C'mon tell me where you were from," he goaded. 

"You're so pushy."

"And you make no sense," he shot back. "You're Lotor's top General, but here you are hitching a ride with a Paladin."

"Technically you're the one hitching a ride," Axca intervened bluntly.  

" _Not_ the point. As I was saying, you're related to Keith somehow, but you've never met him besides when you tried to murder me. And you're originally from Earth, but you're here in space. You're like this one big contradiction to yourself. "

"So are you," Acxa pointed out. Her eyes narrowed on something ahead of her and she pushed her controls harder, the pod picking up speed. Lance, too, directed his gaze towards whatever caught her attention, but saw nothing. Galra eyes must be far superior to his own. Just another thing Keith was better at than him, he thought viciously, his old demon popping its ugly head back into Lance's business yet again. He smushed it back down again. _Fuck off, jealously, you're not welcome here._

"We've reached the trading route, that's a refuelling stop for ships up ahead. Where do we go now that we're on the route?" she asked, turning back to him expectantly.

Silence must not have been the answer she was looking for, because the next second she was glaring flatly at him. "You don't have a plan after this, do you?"

"Hey! I'm just trying to think like Keith would. Just making it up as I go along. So long as I do that I'm bound to run into him at some point," he muttered, not appreciating being spoken down to a Galra bastard like her.

Acxa looked unimpressed. "Doesn't seem to be working out."

"Shut up, purple-female-Legolas."

"Did you just use a Lord of the Rings quote on me?"

He groaned and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Right, I forget you're originally from Earth. I can't slide these things past you like I can with Coran and Allura." That was _embarrassing_.  

" _Lance_ ," she interrupted. He didn't like the sound of his name on her tongue, it felt twisted and misshapen after hearing it on Lotor's once. Sendak used it, too. Whispered it as his claws traced over Lance's cheeks and circled his eyes. He still wasn't sure how he'd learned Lance's name, and rarely dwelled on it as it only served to turn his blood sour. "What next? If you don't have a plan then I won't hesitate in hijacking this pod and tying you to that chair and shoving a gag on you. You're too weak to stop me, even with that gun and the thing on my wrist. I can overpower you in a second." Lance didn't doubt that, but he also had his mouth, which was good for, you know, bullshitting things when times were desperate.      

"Just—just give me a tick."

She complied and leaned back sulkily in her seat.

Closing his eyes, Lance concentrated on forming a plan, something simple, easy to follow. He was certain that Keith had been kidnapped by someone. He wasn't sure how, or why, but somewhere inside of him, he could feel it. It was the same feeling he'd had when Red attacked the Maramorite base after Keith had been injured, this simmering hot thing at the back of his mind telling him something was wrong. _Danger! He's in danger!_ It seemed to scream. And he could feel it now, quieter, less desperate, but he could sense this same simmering unease.

A memory pushed its way stubbornly past his consciousness.  

_"I'm with you," Keith murmured into his ear, his hot, wet breath brushing along his skin. "From now on I'm with you. We're a team, I promise."_

_Pressing his weight down, Keith drove Lance further into the softness of the bed, his hands tracing all over his chest and stomach, so incredibly warm against his icy skin. Keith kissed behind his ear, then moved down to kiss the pulse on Lance's neck, taking the delicate skin between his teeth and tugging. He seemed to like that spot most of all, and if given the chance, Lance guessed he might have buried himself there._

_He was so hot. Felt himself burning under the weight of Keith's body—his hands, his mouth, his very **attention**. It consumed Lance—this fire. An ember lit up from within him as Keith's hands continued their slow, burning exploration. He gasped when something brushed up against his mind. It wasn't Allura, and certainly not Blue, they felt like like a cool gust of wind up the back of his neck. This was simmering hot, and gone a moment later, Lance hardly even able to grasp it before it disappeared entirely, like a dream. Keith apparently took this as a cue to drag his lips further down over the side of Lance's neck and to his collarbone. And, oh, **oh** , Lance had missed people treating him like this. _

_Keith had his utmost attention from that point on._

Lance had forgotten all about that fleeting sensation, hadn't even thought about it again until now.

And now, it was whispering to him. _Go left, go left, go left._  Not with words, but by leaving a kind of impression on his mind, like a photo negative. He saw the bow of a ship, and it was shooting away from them, and he must  ** _go left now!_**

The message was loud and clear. 

"Go left," Lance said, his eyes opening again, the simmering at the back of his mind returning to a faint tickle once again.

Acxa rose a brow. "You're sure of this _how_?"

"Because Keith never does anything right."     

* * *

Lotor decided he despised Earthen deserts after approximately thirteen Earth days of knowing nothing _but_ the awful burnt, orange landscape and blistering heat of that wretched sun above him. He'd taken up residence in that putrid shack the Paladin's had been cooped up in, glaring at all the walls with distain as his severed wrist throbbed painfully with each passing hour, blood still seeping through the bandages every so often. He'd rummaged around the place for the first day, hoping to find anything useful about the half-breed brat, but had found nothing of relative value. That brat apparently was as plain and boring as he looked. Though, judging by the various journal entries he left behind, he was most definitely Acxa's long lost brother. 

He'd tucked those journals away for himself for later documentation. 

Thoughts of Acxa brought up other issues. Now, supposedly a prisoner of Voltron, she was a liability to him and his intentions, but being stuck here the way he was—his father apparently taking his dear time sending a rescue squad out for them—there was nothing he could do. He could only hope she'd remain loyal to a fault, die if she had to, in order to keep his secrets. He prayed that she wouldn't become aware of who exactly Red was to her. Prayed she didn't allow her family to begin to take priority like that awful mother of their's did. 

Comparatively, Lotor also decided he _very_ much enjoyed beating up the lowly rebel scum with the metal-clad toe of his boot. He liked seeing the way new wounds split open his skin, leaking out thick drops of blood. He liked seeing the blooming of the bruises under his skin, seeping out from below the skin like ink. He liked hearing the pained cries and whimpers the traitor sometimes couldn't hold back, especially when Lotor now drove his foot lazily into his ribs, hearing one of them crack. 

_Thirteen._

He'd been cracking a rib for every day that passed where they were still stuck in this awful desert. 

"I'm sorry," Lotor laughed down at the Galra curled in front of his feet on the dusty ground. "I didn't see you there. You really should watch where you decide to take a nap." The Glara scum only groaned from his place chained up next to the post. This had become part of Lotor's morning routine—like brushing your teeth or combing your hair. "Have you had a change of heart about where your loyalties lie?"

As usual, only silence greeted Lotor, and a moment later he was driving his foot into the Galra's face. If only the rebel didn't make it so hard on himself, Lotor thought with a mirthful grin. He was starting to think the Glara was enjoying it as much as Lotor at this point. Perhaps he was a sadist, too? Who knew? Certainly not Lotor, so he kept kicking him each morning, just in case. 

It would be  _cruel_ not to, right? 

Stepping away to take his place in the ugly wooden chair that sat out the front of the shack, he watched the way the sun slowly began to rise, staining the sky with soft pinks and oranges which glowed spectacularly through the clouds. 

 _Oh._ Now that was beautiful. 

He wished he could have seen the way Blue looked at something like this. Fascinated with the idea, Lotor leaned back in his seat and rested his chin on his left hand, the un-severed one. He looked forward to getting himself a prosthetic.

The creak of the wood next to him had his eyes slicing to the left, seeing the faint shimmer of the air by his side, like the sheen of light over water—flickering for an instant, then vanishing.

"Well?" he prompted, eyes falling shut.

He heard Ezor chuckle, a shadow falling over him as she appeared out of thin air. Something thumped by his feet. "Breaking in was easier than I expected. Humans are incredibly primitive with their tech, they didn't even have something to pick up on my heat signature or anything remotely advanced enough to keep me out. It was like breaking into a children's play area," she said cheerily, voice light and airy. Lotor picked her exactly for that voice—that and her incredible combat skills, of course—because it made her easy to trust. Easy to be deceived by. Lotor learnt that the hard way when he'd first tried recruiting her. 

"Did you get what I asked for?" he reminded, eyes slipping open to look icily at her. Sometimes though, she required a firm hand to keep her on track, her mind tending to wander. That's what Acxa was there for, his right hand. With her gone, Lotor was feeling vastly unbalanced. 

"Indeed," she said, pulling out five yellow folders from the sack she'd dropped on the ground. "You'd think a space exploration academy would have all their files stored on their computers. But these were sitting on the desk, just waiting for me to steal them." Ezor slipped them obediently into the hand he offered to her.

Something dark and pleased slithered inside him when he saw the image clipped onto the front of the first file. It had his lip quirking up to the side and a sigh slipping through his grin. Ezor was correct, humans really were primitive with all their technology. It never would have been this easy for someone to steal a confidential Galra file like this.

His thumb soothed over the image with a tentative touch as he gazed down at the lopsided smile of dear Blue. He was obviously younger, his face softer around the edges, but he had the same laughing blue eyes and dark skin. Lotor opened the file, excitement coursing through him, setting his blood on fire. On the other side was an assortment of symbols Lotor knew to be English, one of the many languages spoken on Earth. He was ever thankful for Acxa teaching him it all those years ago, so willing to earn his trust in the early days of her arrival.

"Ezor," he said, staring down at the page with hungry eyes. "When my father finally decides to show up, we're taking a fighter to pay a visit to dear Blue's beloved family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Wow I was tired today bc I had mid semester review (which went well so woooo!) 
> 
> Credit to Legolas for always being there as my go to lotr reference. 
> 
> Follow me on:  
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean
> 
> Enjoy, lovely people! xoxoxox


	7. Thirty-One + 13: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is having a humiliating day. Lance has an unsettling realisation. Something unexpected happens. 
> 
> Be prepared for bad grammar in this one. I was having a bad day with it lolol.

"You done yet, Paladin?" the furry guy's voice intruded through the door, sharp and annoyed. 

Keith grimaced, hunching his shoulders over as he zipped up his pants. This was _humiliating_. How did Keith go from flying through swarms of Galra fighters, blasting, swooping and just generally being a badass, to struggling with his handcuffs as he took a leak in an alien toilet? How did having a screaming match with Pidge lead to  _this_? Though, in retrospect, anything involving Pidge shouldn't come as a surprise, they were both hotheads and often led the team into unsavoury territory. 

"Give me a sec," he growled, scooting over to wrestle with the tap of the basin, which only came up to the height of his knees. As if everything wasn't awkward enough already.

He twisted it to the left but it didn't budge, then tried the same on the right. Nothing. Gritting his teeth, he allowed frustration to get the better of him and slammed his palm against it. Immediately, a highly pressurised—highly painful—spray out purple liquid slammed into his face, causing him to stumble back into the opposite wall with a outraged shout. As it dripped down his face and into his mouth he could taste something sweet, chemical and sharp, and spluttered against it, using his hands to wipe it from his face. But it was no use. It was in his hair, and if his past terrible experiences with his hair had anything to say about it, it wouldn't be coming out without some very rigorous washing. 

"You okay in there? Sounds like you just died or something," the furry guy asked on the other side, sounding decidedly not concerned about whether Keith was actually dead. 

"I'm  _fine,_ " Keith strained, his patience wearing thin. It had taken him enough time, and plenty of humiliating gestures, for Keith to demonstrate what a bathroom was, and this debacle was not helping his mood. Twisting around in the small space towards the door, uncaring of what he looked like anymore, he said, "Can you let me out now? I'm _done_."

Done with everything. 

The door slid open with a thud, the guy standing there with a hand on his hip, looking unimpressed with Keith. One of his ears twitched as his pink eye raked from Keith's feet to his head. "I take it you got confused?"

"Your taps make no sense," Keith snapped.

"I didn't mean that taps."

Keith's brow lowered in confusion. "What do you mean?" 

His mouth curved up into a grin, displaying two pointy canines that put Keith on edge, the same way the Galra's did. "I doubt the Captain will be pleased you pissed in our hand washer." 

Keith tilted forwards, his brows scrunching down and mouth twisting to the side, staring incomprehensibly at the him. "Hand washer?" 

"Yeah, where you wash your hands. What do humans call it?" 

"A hand basin?" Keith replied dumbly. 

"Then what's with the confusion? Are all humans this vain?" he asked, gesturing a flippant hand to Keith, claws glinting in the low light. 

"Hand washer," Keith repeated to himself this time. His eyes widened when the realisation dawned.  _Oh no._ With his handcuffed hands, he turned to point wildly at the thing he pissed in. "That's the hand washer?" The blue guy nodded, face wary, but a little amused, too. "Then that means..." Keith's eyes tracked slowly to the thing that sprayed him with liquid with horrified eyes. "That's the toilet." 

"If that's the human word for the place where you piss and everything else unsanitary, then yes, that's the toilet. It also has a cleaning mechanism on it," he said pleasantly. His grin broadened as he raked his eyes over Keith's soaked form one more time. "Though I think you've already figured that out." 

_Fuck._

If someone put a bullet right through Keith's skull at that moment, he didn't think he'd mind. 

"If it's any consolation, you're not the first to make that mistake. But you are the first to fail so epically at it." He waved a hand towards himself, directing Keith to follow him. "Come, I'll get you a change of clothes. It wouldn't do to have you meeting the Captain looking like  _that._ "

His humiliation leaving him speechless, Keith followed obediently, flinching every time he felt the liquid drip down from his hair and over his face. He was led around various corridors in the ship, the furry guy in front of him setting a brisk pace as he trudged along, nodding his head at a few other members of the crew. Keith felt like he was on a submarine, the walls crowding in on him from all sides, dark and creaking—felt as though they'd cave in at any moment.

The furry guy wore a complicated arrangement of dark leathers that were strapped in layers over his entire body, leaving his arms bare asides from a few decorative bands and bangles on his upper-arms and wrists. For the first time, Keith noticed this guy also had a tail, which swung around lazily behind him. When he walked his pointed ears swivelled in all directions, supposedly catching all the sounds around him; the groaning of the old ship, the chatter of other pirates, the tell-tale clang of swords clashing together in the distance. They flicked towards Keith a few times as well, ensuring the Paladin hadn't run off.

When they rounded the next corner they entered what looked like a dressing room, various hangers draped with a large assortment of clothes—all leather-looking and all somewhere between the colours black and brown. The guy picked off a set of clothes and chucked them at Keith, who caught them awkwardly with his handcuffed hands.

He pointed to the opposite corner of the room. "Get changed over there and don't try any funny business."

"That's Lance's department, not mine," Keith mumbled.

"What's a Lance?"

"An asshole." The furry guy looked extremely confused, his ears twitching as he tried to comprehend Keith's words. To distract him from his dilemma, Keith held up his cuffed hands, holding the clothes uncomfortably between his elbows. "I can't get changed with these on." 

"No, but I'd love to see you try." Keith glared at him. "But you're right, that would take far too long. And you've already delayed us with that little hiccup of yours in the _toilet_ ," he said, walking forwards and removing something from his pocket, which he then swiped over the handcuffs and they clattered to the floor. Keith catalogued him as he returned the object back to his left pocket. An important thing to remember in case things got hairy later.  

The guy's pink eye glowed as he glanced up at Keith, a cloud of seriousness falling over his face. He looked suddenly...sympathetic? As if he had something on his mind. God, this guy's mood swung nearly as quickly as Lance's.

"I saw the broadcast of you and your comrade, we all did. I'm still undecided whether I trust Voltron, but I'm sorry he betrayed you like that. I'm sorry he died like that, as well," his voice was solemn as something flickered inside his eye. An understanding.       

"You saw that?" 

"The entire universe has probably seen it now. That's why we picked up your lion when we could, the Captain was interested after seeing you were all human, so when we found your lion just floating there we reeled you in to prevent anyone worse getting their hands on you. No one trusts you guys anymore, so better safe than sorry." 

"I've noticed," Keith grumbled, thinking about all their lost allies with regret. He still had the picture of Lance's distraught face when he realised they'd lost them all because of his actions—like a bullet shattering a plane of glass. He returned the guy's serious look with an earnest one of his own. "He's not dead though, and he didn't betray us. He survived and Voltron is stronger than ever."

Yes, the last part might have been a lie, but he may as well start rebuilding their reputation while he had the opportunity. Who knew where they could find more allies? This guy seemed friendly enough. 

"But I saw it," he replied, looking baffled. "He died. I saw it in your eyes. You went insane and attacked the Galra. No one reacts like that unless they've lost something important."

"He's alive now, that's all you need to know."

He watched Keith steadily for a moment, his pink pupil-less eye creased around the edges as he narrowed his gaze scrutinisingly. "I see. My name is Jone, by the way." He held his hand out, his long fingers tipped with small, sharp claws. 

"Keith," he replied, hesitantly taking Jone's hand in his and shaking it.

"I'd hurry up with changing if I were you. The Captain has a timeliness issue." 

Keith nodded, letting his hand drop and making his way to his designated corner to change in, feeling his stomach heave nervously at the thought of meeting the Captain. He had the feeling that he was going to get more than what he bargained for. 

_She's looking for her son._

Keith wasn't sure if he was ready to face that possibility quite yet. 

* * *

"Remind me again how you know where you're going," Acxa said dully, yawning against her hand.

"I just feel it," Lance replied, fully aware of how useless that information was, but couldn't care less. His head was killing him at the moment, the lack of water and food taking a heavy toll on him after being cramped inside the pod for so long.

He'd always had to take breaks on road trips with his family as he got terrible headaches from the cramped conditions. He'd kill for a stop at Burger King or something right now. He tried distracting himself by fiddling with some of the weapons system, but it proved fruitless, the headache drove further and further into his skull like the tip of a drill. 

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

He pressed his finger gingerly against his temples, circling the area gently, the pressure giving him slight relief. "You're still technically a prisoner, you shouldn't be feeling anything but afraid right now."

Acxa laughed. "A _willing_ prisoner who can hijack this ship whenever she wants because you're weak and useless right now. You've fallen asleep four times since we left."

Lance sat up in his seat, rising to the bait like he would with Keith. "I _know_ that. It's all part of my genius plan obviously." 

"Thought you said you didn't have a plan?" she grinned. 

"Shut up, _furry_ ," he grumbled as his chin jutted out stubbornly. 

Acxa scoffed, offended by this. "I'm not a furry." Lance caught her expression shift when she spotted something in the distance, which was again too far away from him to see. Curse his boringly human eyes. "There's a ship up ahead. How do you  _feel_ about it?" she teased. 

"I feel like you need to shut the hell up." He squinted as he looked up ahead, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him. He'd tried eating some of the rations the pod had in storage but they'd only made him feel ill. "I can't see it. Can you bring it up on the screens?" She did as he asked, swiping her hands across the screens and enlarging an image of a ship. It was a grey, old, rickety looking thing, but it had the large bow Lance had seen in his head before. "That's it," he confirmed. 

"You're sure?" Acxa asked doubtfully. 

The simmering sensation in his head was strong and warm at the moment, had been getting warmer ever since they started on this path. He nodded his head. "I'm positive." 

"What are you going to do? Break onto the ship and pull your comrade out?" 

Lance grinned at her. "I wasn't, but now that you mentioned it—" 

Her eyes looked concerned when she turned to him. "Please don't, that's a horrible idea. Not in your state."

"Aw, I'm touched that you care," he joked, touching a hand to his chest as if he were really moved by her words. "But as if I'm gonna let you on that ship to get Keith. You'll run away with him first chance you get." 

"I won't." 

"You will," he insisted. "So, you're gonna stay on standby as our getaway ride. Just fly by like a passing ship on the same route for now and I'll jetpack to the ship. Just get in close enough for me without being suspicious. It looks about as old as my great great grandpa so there has to be an opening somewhere so I can sneak aboard. I'll sneak in, grab him, get to his lion and get out." 

Acxa paused her hands, which had been in the middle of doing something on her controls, her eyes sharpening on him like knives. "If you're getting away in the lion, what do you need me as a getaway for?"

He shot a couple finger guns at her and winked, the movement sent agony up his arms, but he ignored it. "Now you get it."

"You're going to abandon me using the lion," she deadpanned. 

"Yup."

"And you're revealing this to me, why? I could refuse right now and turn this thing around."

"Indeed, but you're not gonna," he smirked, his shaking hands reaching for the helmet by his feet. 

"And why is that?" 

"Because I'm you're only shot at getting your family back. It's not like you can hop aboard and expect Keith to follow you out. He'll probably kill you on sight. So, that only leaves you with one option. Me. Regardless of the risk of me leaving you behind. I guess you had better pray your Pod can keep up with a Voltron lion," Lance said with a shrug, his grin widening. Checkmate. 

Acxa's eyes looked at him with barely restrained hatred, but she didn't change her course, didn't lunge at him, only bit her lip and turned back to the screens, where Lance could finally see the ship coming up ahead, quickly. They'd be right beneath it in a couple minutes. His entire body trembled with anticipation. Keith. Keith was in there. He knew it. Could feel it in the warmth wrapping its way snuggly around him.

Very quietly, he heard Acxa say:

"I understand why Lotor took an interest in you now."

Lance jerked hard in his seat as he pulled on his helmet, feeling his stomach heave at her words and something sickly rise in his throat. " _What_?"  

She didn't turn to him. "You're alike, you and him. The way you think and the way you talk. And you both lie so easily, it's like breathing for you both. He probably saw some part of himself in you, which was why he couldn't kill you in the end. If he's still alive, I'd be careful. He won't stop coming after you."

Lance felt the dread in his stomach sink low, heavy like a stone, when he stood and took a couple steps towards Acxa, planting a hand behind her on the seat. He leaned in, feeling the sudden need to assert himself. He didn't like this comparison she'd made. It brought back things he'd rather forget. Brought back the awful feeling of Lotor's hands on him, the feeling of his claws tearing his skin open, his breath against his skin, that voice in his ear. It made him shiver.

"If you ever compare me with your psycho boss again, I'll let Keith tear you apart next time he sees you," he said, low and dangerous. Pushing himself away from the seat and to the back of the cockpit where the airlock door was, he added, "It was nice knowing you. Thanks for the lift, but this is my stop. I hope you rot in hell."

You see, Lance was good at pretending, good at getting on the right side of a person's interest and reeling them in. He made friendly conversation, grinned a lot, threw his hands around and generally made people feel comfortable. He knew what kind of affect that had on people, knew what affect it would have on _Acxa_.

After realising she was originally from Earth it had been easy. She'd become pliant and easy to manipulate, easy to get her to let down her guard to a certain extent. He'd explained certain details about himself, personal things that she could relate to, and therefore she began to see him in a different light. She became friendly, almost, as if she'd been deprived of this during her time with the Galra. The more he talked, the more her hands loosened on her controls as she let go of her instinct to hijack the pod, and the more she trusted him to uphold his end of the bargain. And now she was at a loose end, had nothing to gain from letting him go, but hesitant in simply kidnapping him and using him as a bargaining chip to get back on Lotor's crew.

All he needed was that slight hesitation, where she saw him as a human being and not as an opportunity, and he was gone, disappearing through the airlock and out into space, using his jetpack to propel him up towards the passing ship. 

As he rocketed his way upwards, feeling dizzy still, but otherwise okay, he thought perhaps she might have had a point. He remembered Lotor's words:

_I can see the same thing that slithers around inside my gut as it does in yours._

Lance felt it again just now, felt it hiss in satisfaction after leaving Acxa behind. Felt his cruelty swim around inside his veins and feed into his adrenaline. Pushed him forwards until he found an opening to sneak in to. 

Using people came way too easily to Lance. And he'd the gall to berate _Keith_ for it when Shiro disappeared. Look at him now, using people left, right and centre. Using Shiro's trust, Allura's concern, Coran's acceptance, Hunk's worry, Pidge's fear and Keith's kindness against them all to benefit his own personal mandate to prove himself. 

Perhaps he and Lotor _were_ alike. 

* * *

Once Keith had finished dressing in a simple dark shirt and pants, not all that different from his usual clothes, Jone escorted him through another complicated arrangement of corridors. He'd apparently decided he trusted Keith enough to leave him without the cuffs on this time and Keith wasn't sure how to feel about that development. Wasn't sure what space pirates supposedly trusting him said about _him_ as a person.   

"I don't get it," Keith started, this question on the tip of his tongue for a while now. "What side of this war are you on?"

"No side. We operate independent of it all. Just avoid the fighting at all costs," Jone said offhandedly as he opened a door for him and Keith to pass through.

Keith rose a brow, "That makes no sense. How can you not pick a side?"

"We have, we picked _our_ side. Which is to not contribute to the destruction in any shape or form. The Captain has other priorities, like protecting those affected by your battles that you have left behind for dead."

Keith reeled back. " _Excuse me_?" 

Jone, beside him, met Keith's eyes firmly with his one pink one, face hard and unyeilding. "Don't get me wrong, we strongly prefer you guys over the Galra. But you can't deny that your battles leave a lot of destruction in their wake. Destruction that could be avoided if you had a better handle on your weapon. Or if you just didn't use your weapon at all." 

"You mean Voltron?" Keith gaped, not believing a word he was hearing right now. "You know, without Voltron the Galra will never be defeated. It's the only weapon that can." 

"Exactly," Jone said. "It's a weapon. A powerful weapon, no different from that of the Galra. It leaves almost as much destruction as them and then runs off to another planet with nothing but a weak promise of hope left behind. You burn down their cities in the name of freedom, but you don't stick around to pick up the pieces." 

"That's not true." 

"It's what happened to me," Jone interrupted, his eye falling to the ground sadly. "You came to our planet about three months ago, and yeah, you liberated it. But in the midst of your battles you inadvertently burned down my home, with my lover inside. That's how I got this." He pointed to his eyepatch.

"Three months ago," Keith echoed, his memory straining to remember the planet's name. "We—we killed your lover?"

"You don't remember the planet's name, do you?" Jone said mournfully, his eye twitching with slight anger. "It was called Dastonov."

"I remember. I do," Keith argued, but honestly, his memory of that mission was hazy. He hardly remembered the battle, let alone the outcome. "I—I'm sorry. We never meant to hurt anyone."

"Casualties of war are unavoidable. But the casualties belong to either one side or the other. Yours or the Galra. That's why we don't choose a side. We just rescue those who have been displaced or enslaved. The two you saw with me earlier, they were both from a mining planet that was destroyed by the Galra a month ago."

Keith felt like there was a ringing inside his head, his vision clouding over a little. He knew they'd caused casualties before, but he'd brushed it off and moved on, now, however, being faced with Jone, _a casualty,_ Keith could feel the crippling sensation of guilt. Feel it in his bones, making him feel stiff and unable to move. 

"Look, I'm not saying I blame you for anything. You've chosen the aggressive side, the one to push back against the Glara. And it's necessary that someone _does_ push back. We just elect not to. And, I just want you to be aware of the casualties. Respect them and, if you can, avoid them. That's all I ask." 

Jone was watching Keith earnestly, no hatred inside his eye, only a desperation for Keith to understand, to hear him and his experience and take it on board. Keith solidified his expression into one of determination.

"I understand. When I get back to my team, I'll address the issue with them, to prevent as many unnecessary causalities as we can in the future. I promise," he vowed.        

Jone smiled, appreciation written in the way his face relaxed. Suddenly, he paused his steps, ears perking up and swivelling in that way of theirs. Keith watched them, entrapped by their movements. It reminded him so much of a cat that it made him want to laugh, but that would have been inappropriate, given the conversation they just had. Jone was taught as a bowstring and his tail whipped around him, looking discontent.   

"What's wrong?" asked Keith.

He saw his pink eye narrow with suspicion, scanning the space around him. "We've been boarded by an intruder." 

"How do you know?" 

Jone pointed to his ears like it was obvious. "I can ear everything on this ship." 

A second later something long and hard was being slammed into the back of Jone's head, which sent him tumbling to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the metal. Keith gaped at his fallen form, before he looked up to see a figure emerge from the shadows by the door, a long staff inside their trembling hands. One of those hands instantly reached for Keith's wrist and tugged forwards as they begun to hurry down an intersecting corridor, pulling Keith with then. 

He recognised them immediately. 

" _Lance?"_

_Lance._

_LANCE?_  

"That's my name," he said, pulling Keith sharply as he turned a corner. 

But Keith screeched to a halt, jerking Lance back towards him. Lance glared at him over his shoulder.

"What the  _hell_ are you doing here, Lance? Are you insane!?" he exclaimed, feeling panic begin to unsettle his stomach. This couldn't be happening. If Shiro had sent Lance in here after everything they'd said to _Keith_ the other day, then Keith would have a heck load of things to say to _them_ about being hypocritical assholes. 

"This is a rescue mission." 

"I don't need rescuing," he argued. "I wasn't a prisoner."  

"Could have fooled me. C'mon, I saw Red down this way," Lance tried, tugging at his wrist again, but Keith didn't move. His mind was reeling.

"You hit Jone for no reason, Lance! He literally just finished telling me about how we burned his lover to death and you smack him unconscious!?"

Lance's face went pale. "We what? I thought he was taking you to some torture chamber or something!" he hissed, closing in on Keith, feet unsteady. He was breathing far too hard. "How was I supposed to know?" His face suddenly looked like it was about to crack, collapsing under the weight of some invisible emotion. 

Keith drew in a careful breath, calming himself so he could tackle this with a clear head. Using the hand Lance still gripped by the wrist, he swivelled it around to catch Lance's trembling one, squeezing it tight. "Look, I'm happy to see that you give a shit about me, but you came at the worst possible time." Suddenly a piercing siren broke the air around them, both of them flinching simultaneously. "But seeing as you're here and have seemingly stirred up a bit of a situation, you may as well lead us back to Red. Just, stay calm, okay? No freak outs yet. I'll tell you everything once we're out of here."

Lance stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, then nodded, slowly pulling away to lead the way. Keith followed without hesitation. How was Lance even here? Why? He was far too weak to be undergoing any missions, so why would Shiro send him after Keith? Unless—

"You disobeyed Shiro's orders and came after me, didn't you?" 

Lance shrugged. His hand was still wrapped around Keith's. "They were all going in the wrong direction. I had a better idea." 

"So, you risked your life to come here?" 

"Yep." Lance sounded far to nonchalant about that. 

Keith was feeling conflicted at leaving after hearing Jone's words. These people clearly weren't the enemy, just a group of pacifiers trying to make the universe a better place in the wake of the Galra—and _Voltron's_ —destruction. If Keith had met with their Captain he might have been able to form an alliance, might have learned a better way to help the universe. He really felt like he was missing an important opportunity here. But looking at Lance, his condition, his determination, Keith knew what his priority was. 

Besides, it was unlikely this group would want an alliance with Voltron. There was nothing they could really offer each other anymore than Jone's words.

But—

_She's looking for her son._

If that were his mother, running away now would cost him his chance of ever meeting her again. He doubted they'd ever trust Voltron after this. The further they ran, the more he felt his heart begin to rip, like there was a string attached each side—Lance on one side and his mother at the other—and it was being pulled from either end. He felt the pain like glass being stabbed inside of him. 

But Keith already had a family. Blood or not, they were his priority, and he owed it to them to come back.  

Lance's pace had begun to lag, his feet dragging behind him like they were filled with water and Keith could see his shoulders heaving with the effort to take in air. It suddenly hit Keith _how much_ Lance had risked by coming here, how much he'd put on the line. Not only his life, but Shiro's trust would undoubtedly be a huge consequence of his actions. Keith knew how much it hurt to lose the Black Paladin's trust, and so, took pity upon Lance, coming up behind him and placing a supporting hand on his lower back.

Lance's face beneath his visor was sweaty and flushed, and his pupils were pin-pricks as he fought against his exhusation. Keith owed it to him to at least show a little thanks. 

He smiled softly and said, "Thank you. It was stupid and reckless, something you should probably leave to me in the future, but I appreciate it. Tell me which turns to take, okay? Just try to breathe." 

Lance smiled back, tight, and strained around the edges, but still managed make Keith feel a little giddy as he slipped an arm around his shoulders to support himself. As they continued to limp away, Keith was surprised when no one came to apprehend them straight away. Surely someone would be on their way by now? Keith asked as much to Lance as they finally entered the hanger, feeling relief sweep through him at the sight of Red still sitting there. 

"I gave them something else to focus on. A certain pod with a certain weapons malfunction might have accidentally taken fire at the ship. I'd feel bad for the pilot inside, but I honestly couldn't care less what happens to them," Lance laughed, voice thin and weak.  

"I don't like the sound of anything you just said," Keith responded, hurrying towards the particle barrier, practically dragging Lance at this point. He could see the other boy struggling to keep his eyes open, his face now turning a worrying shade of yellow. "Christ, Lance, you really like to put yourself on the line, don't you?"

"Only when it counts," he said, grinning dopily at Keith as the barrier fell, Red lowering her mouth for them to climb in. Belatedly Keith felt a thrum of joy go through him that she was responding to him again. 

Once they'd finally entered the cockpit, Keith gently lowered Lance to the ground besides his seat. Lance practically collapsed back onto the ground, a harsh sigh escaping his lips, which were pulled back into a grimace.

For a moment, Keith paused, crouched down in front of him with a hand resting on his shoulder. Lance was still panting hard, sweat slipping down from his hairline and dripping off his nose and eyelids. Running around the ship searching for Keith must have really strained his body. And his hands, which still clutched the staff between them, were shaking worse than ever. It reminded Keith far too vividly of the way he'd convulsed to death not so long ago. 

He saw Lance's stomach lurch inwards at the same moment he gagged, and instantly knew what was about to happen, darting to the side just as Lance fell forwards to puke. Keith could only watch in horror as, not bile or food, but a small glob of blood came up while he dry-heaved continuously. His entire body convulsed with the violent force of it and Keith felt his stomach empty out at the pained look on Lance's face, tears forcing their way down his cheeks and the veins at his temples bulging against the pressure.  

"Lance," he breathed, leaving the sentence hanging, unable to finish whatever he was going to say. 

Between the violent shudders, Lance replied, hoarsely, "It's fine. The blood is just because I haven't actually thrown up food in so long, so I've ripped the lining of something." 

"That doesn't sound fine to me, idiot," Keith snapped, gently sliding the hand on Lance's shoulder to his neck to guide his head back against the seat as he finished dry-heaving. He pressed the corner of his sleeve against Lance's mouth to dab away the blood.

His tired, blue eyes met his, red rimmed and sunken. Keith could feel his fractured breath against his hand. "Just get in your seat and fly us out of here." 

Reluctantly, Keith pulled away, ghosting a hand over Lance's cheek absently as he settled himself in his seat. He splayed his hands out on the controls and—

Nothing. 

Once again, Red was all but dead metal under his hands. 

Keith's heart sank to the floor and his face crumpled. This couldn't be happening. She'd opened up to him and dropped her barrier for him just a couple of minutes ago. Why was she shutting him out again all of a sudden? 

_No. Red, you can't do this. I need you._

"Please," he whispered, eyes falling shut. "Don't do this to me now." 

"Keith?" came Lance's reedy voice. "What's wrong? Why aren't we going?" 

Keith let out a thick breath, the odd urge to cry sweeping over him. "Red. She's not responding to me. It's the reason why I got stuck out here in the first place. I thought she was just pissed or something but—"

"She's rejecting you?" Lance finished, sounding concerningly understanding of Keith's plight.

"I guess so. Maybe she decided she doesn't want a Galra piloting her." Keith's eyes opened again, burning hot with barely restrained tears. He couldn't stand another rejection. Allura might accept him now, but her hateful, hurt looks still haunted him. He had nightmares that the entire team would one day look at him the same way. Perhaps they were finally coming true. 

"Well, that's utter bullshit."  

"Please don't joke about this, Lance. Now we're stuck here. They'll probably kill us both now and it's my fault. If I hadn't of—" 

"We're not playing the blame game. Jesus, Keith. Just chill out for a sec and stop brooding. Look," Lance began, and Keith saw his hands tug off his helmet as he turned to face him, his body moving gingerly, as if every movement hurt him. It certainly hurt Keith to watch. A quivering hand reached out to cover Keith's on his controls, gripping tight as his fingers slipped between his. "Take it from me, the moment you start doubting yourself is the moment everything goes to shit. Just reach out to her and listen to what she needs from you." 

Keith stared, feeling hooked in by the way Lance was looking at him. Lance always had this way of understanding the lions, better than any of them. He—

He—

"Trust her," Lance instructed with a nod. 

The moment the words left Lance's mouth, the entire cockpit lit up, all the screens, data, maps and controls coming to life around them as a mighty roar tore through the hanger. Everything seemed to shake around them with that roar, as if she could rip the ship apart with it. Lance and Keith gasped in unison, their gazes clashing together with shock and excitement as Red righted herself up into a standing position. Over Keith's, Lance's hand began to ease its trembling slightly. 

Curiously, Keith lifted his hand up, removing Lance's and placing it back down on the controls in place of his own. Right away, they were met with a pleased rumble from Red. 

And suddenly Keith understood. 

Red had never been rejecting Keith, not at all. 

She'd simply chosen a new Paladin. Chosen Lance. 

"Lance," Keith breathed, watching the other boy with wide eyes, who was staring shock-still at his hand resting on the controls. "Lance, how did you know where to find me? There was no way for you to know." 

Lance's reply was delayed several moments, his eyes still watching his hand on the controls. He spoke slowly, as if in a trance. "I felt something in the back of my mind. Like this simmering, warm feeling. It fed me images and ideas. It led me here."

_Oh._

Keith understood _completely._

"Red was calling for you," he said, in awe. "She's chosen you." Lance didn't seem to hear him; his eyes were still wide and pinned on his own hand. He was so motionless he didn't even look like he was breathing, though it was always hard to tell under their armour. Keith's hand reached down to touch Lance's shoulder lightly, leaning in. "Lance?" 

"Keith, look," Lance whispered in the quietest voice Keith head ever heard from him. 

Glancing down to his hand, slowly, always a little hesitant to take his eyes off Lance's, he stilled at what he saw. His mouth dropped open to say something, but nothing but awed silence came out. Lance's hand—

It was completely steady. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. Besides Jone, of course. 
> 
> Wow there are probs so many mistakes in this one. I was disliking it when I first wrote it but it got better when I edited. Still. A bad grammar day. SORRY. 
> 
> Hope it suffices for you. 
> 
> xoxoxoxo


	8. Thirty-One + 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is trying, for Lance and Hunk. There is a flashback, it's pretty hot. Lotor is an ass, but that's nothing new.

Shiro watched as Lance tediously lifted the spoon to his mouth, the utensil shaking in his unsteady grip and spilling a portion of the goo. This goo was purple, a special recipe from Coran, though Lance looked like he would rather disagree with the _special_ aspect of it. His face was set in stoney concentration as he forced his hand to remain on its heading, and with a great amount of effort, he managed to close his lips around the spoon. Lance's narrow blue eyes skimmed up to Shiro. 

"Swallow," he commanded, voice hard. 

He saw the movement of Lance's throat as he did what he was asked, his eyes not leaving Shiro's heavy gaze, brows low and irritated. He sat on one of the beds in the med bay, where he'd been for the last day after arriving back at the castle with Keith, an unpleasant surprise when Lance was supposed to be _resting_. Upon the castle's sensors picking up on Red's signal incoming Shiro, Hunk, Pidge and Allura had all raced down to her hanger after spending a good amount of time drilling Coran about Lance's whereabouts.

The older man, unaffected by being confronted by four angry Paladins, had simply shrugged and said, "I'm not his gatekeeper. Would you have preferred me to chain him to his bed instead? Have walked around the castle all satisfied with myself as he screamed and begged for me to let him go?" Shiro had been taken back by the fierceness of Coran's voice—the stubbornness of his jaw. "Lance knew the risk. He wouldn't have gone if it weren't something he thought needed to be done."  

"And the Galra prisoner?" Allura strained between clenched teeth. "You allowed Lance to run off with her? That could prove disastrous. Lance has put himself in huge danger, and you allowed it to happen." 

"He knows that, Princess, and you can bet he's taken that into account." He'd sighed then, looking tired, the lines on his face cutting deeper than Shiro recalled. "However, I did place a tracker on the pod he used." 

That pod, as it turned out, was now steadily on course to a Galra battle cruiser in the area, which had sent the team into a panic. However, just in time, Red suddenly pinged into existence on the castle's scanners, and, once in the hanger, the entire team had sighed in relief when they saw both Keith _and_ Lance exited the lion. Lance, against all odds, grinned as he stepped out unassisted by Keith, who looked vastly against this, eyes fastened on the other boy like he was afraid he'd collapse the moment he looked away.

"Found him," Lance smirked, jerking a thumb over to Keith, who scowled and looked the other way. Though Shiro saw him casting a secondary glance back at Lance from the corner of his eyes.

Shiro had a scolding on his tongue, felt it itch to be let loose, but Hunk's words rang inside his head. " _Trust him."_ Glancing over at the Yellow Paladin Shiro saw him nod slowly—seriously—at him. He recognised the spark of defiance in his eyes, knew that if Shiro even so much as tried to berate Lance right now he'd receive another one of his own later. So Shiro bit his tongue, set his shoulders and marched over to Lance and Keith, who both looked like they were preparing themselves for the worst, wearing twin expressions of dread. They shared the same twin breaths of surprise when Shiro only pulled them both into a tight embrace. 

"I'm glad you're both okay. But we _are_ having some words later about recklessness."

Shiro's words with Lance weren't so much words, as such, but a permanent drip inside his arm and confinement to the med bay for a couple days. Coran had mixed up a special type of goo that was supposed to be gentle on Lance's stomach and encourage his body into accepting food again, though by the scrunched up look on his face, it was anything but pleasant.

"Tastes like ass, and not the fun kind," he complained after swallowing, sticking his tongue out miserably. Shiro winced. 

Beside Lance, Hunk spluttered into his hand, looking at him with horrified eyes. "Oh, buddy, that was the worst thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth." Lance side eyed him with a smirk that could only mean terrible things to come. His mouth twitched sideways, glinting his teeth. Hunk's face collapsed. "Oh no, don't you _dare_."

"I concur," Shiro sighed. "Use that mouth for some good and leave our ears unscathed, _please_. Another one," he said, gesturing to the bowl sitting on Lance's knees.

Groaning with annoyance, Lance did as he was told, shaky hand diving unhappily to scoop up another spoonful. Hunk, minding the Lance's drip carefully in his hands so it didn't get tangled while he ate, snorted and nudged his friend's leg with his own. "Don't sulk. If this stuff works, it means you can have that drip out of your arm soon enough." 

"Wouldn't that be a blessing," Lance sighed, then hissed when the shuddering of his hand sent the spoon flying to the ground, scattering goo everywhere. Shiro watched the way Lance's expression shut like a door as he looked accusingly at the spoon on the floor. He saw him bite his lip harshly between his teeth as he restrained some kind of invisible emotion. Shiro saw it bubble there, though, just under the surface. But Lance always somehow managed to keep a lid on it.  

Hunk's brows drew inwards, but immediately put himself together again and jumped to his feet. "I'll get you a new one," he said lightly, picking up the fallen spoon and racing out of the med bay. 

When the doors shut behind him, Shiro sat down slowly next to Lance. He didn't touch him though. He saw the way Lance's shoulders huddled in tightly, like he was inching away from everything. Shiro would grant him his space, and give him a well needed distraction as well. "Lance, Keith has already told me everything he knows. All I need from you now is anything between us leaving you behind and you rescuing Keith." 

"I didn't rescue him. He wasn't in danger. In fact, I was probably the only dangerous one there; I knocked out that furry guy without a second thought. They'll probably hate us now, because I was being an idiot. It seems to be the only thing I'm good at—costing us more potential allies." His voice cracked at the end, head lowering over his shoulders. 

Shiro let out a careful breath, holding himself together. Lance was getting off track here, getting caught up inside his own guilt. It wasn't what Shiro needed from him right now. And it wasn't what Lance needed either. "You didn't cost us anything, Lance. By the sounds of what Keith was saying, they wouldn't have joined us anyway. Stay on track; tell me what happened." 

Lance did as Shiro asked, his eyes still heavy and miserable as they stared down at the place where the spoon had been. He explained the feeling at the back of his mind, pointing him towards Keith, recruiting the Galra as his pilot, betraying her and leaving her stranded in the pod, searching the ship for Keith, feeling like his body would would break apart at any moment. "I know using the Galra as my pilot was stupid and risky, but I couldn't fly, and I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling inside my head. It wasn't like I could ask Coran to give me a lift. And I know you're not happy about her getting away in the pod, but the most she can do is crawl back to the Galra and betray our location, and we've already wormholed away anyway, so it doesn't matter. Besides, I don't think she'll give us away." 

Shiro noticed the twitch in Lance's expression. "Why not?" 

Lance turned to him, his mouth moving like he was about to say something, but he caught himself, and snapped it shut. Shiro saw the decision go through his head, saw it in the tightening of his eyes and firm set of his mouth—he'd decided to keep something from Shiro. He felt annoyance, sharp and bitter, at this decision of Lance's. Keeping secrets had caused huge problems for the team in the past and Shiro would rather keep that risk to a minimum. But he knew there was only so much he could squeeze out of Lance at once. So, he'd let him keep his secret for now, until he was ready.  

"Because I'm pretty sure she's shit scared of Keith coming to finish the job if she tries any funny business," Lance said instead, with a smirk. Humour—his natural fallback, Shiro had learned—colouring Lance's face like it always did. Lifted the frown in his lips, smoothed the creases between his brows and sanded over the sharp edge of his eyes. It almost convinced Shiro. Almost. 

"Speaking of Keith," Shiro started. "How does this whole Red choosing you as her new Paladin thing work? How were you able to pilot her? Keith explained, but I'd like to hear it from you." 

Lance chuckled humorously, though Shiro heard the echo of bitterness in it. "Isn't _that_ the question of the century."

* * *

_"Your hand," Keith said dumbly, staring at it in awe, the same way he had back when he first saw Lance shoot. He felt a vague sense of deja vu wash over him._

_"How—" Lance began, but was cut off when there was a commotion at the entrance to the hanger. Keith saw four figures race in, one of them Jone, for which he was thankful for. He'd assumed that he'd merely just been knocked out by Lance's staff, but had a bad feeling nipping at his conscious ever since. The thankfulness faded when he saw the betrayed expression on his face as he glared up at the lion. Keith felt a strange sense of loss upon seeing it. He'd never **had** it to begin with. _

_"Shit, we need to go," Keith declared, seeing the heavy-duty weapons being pulled in behind the group of four. They'd be useless against the lions, but would cause awful problems for themselves, having no idea what they were truly up against. Keith was still reeling about Red's sudden change of heart and what it meant for him, but he knew he only had a few moments to make a decision. "Lance, get up here. You need to fly us out," he commanded._

_"Me?" Lance squeaked, looking up at Keith in panic. "I can't—"_

_Keith shook his head and tugged on Lance's arm, trying to encourage him up. "Red chose you, which means only you can fly her. You need to fly her **now**. Remember Allura said?"_

* * *

_Indeed, Lance recalled what Alllura said. Right at the start of Voltron, just before the team had left to collect their lions, she'd given them all this hefty look. Still a stranger at that point, the strength behind it had put Lance on edge._

_"Your first flight seals the bond. Once your lion accepts you, you must fly it as soon as you can. If you don't, your bond may become fractured and potentially impossible to repair."_

_"Lance, c'mon," Keith growled. "She's chosen you, and we need to get out of here as fast as possible. Now's your chance to show off." He tugged on Lance's arm again._

_"Okay, alright. I'm coming," Lance said, whimpering at the pain that swept through him as he hauled himself up. When Keith didn't move from the seat, however, he frowned. "You know you have to move, right?"_

_"You're still weak," Keith replied, something dark in those eyes of his._

_"Well, hot damn, you're right, too weak to **sit in a chair** , apparently. Genius, Keith, as always," Lance said drily. _

_Keith didn't look swayed by this, his eyes not wavering from Lance's as he continued to stare up at him defiantly. "I stand by what I said. Plus, we don't have time for a tutorial. I'll help you with the controls."_

_"The first time I flew Blue I fought off a Galra battle cruiser and dove into a wormhole to the other side of the universe, I think I'll be fine," Lance argued, crossing his arms._

_Keith still didn't move, just shifted in his seat and waited for Lance to make up his mind._

_Lance groaned. "Fine." He kicked Keith's legs out of the way and gingerly set himself down in front of him. Keith shuffled back to give them both some space, but there was only so much room in the seat, and Lance could still feel the pressure of his thighs around his—the heated line of his front against Lance's back. He felt a puff of warm breath against the back of his neck as Keith leaned forwards and took Lance's hands between his own—they were shaking again, Lance noticed—and slowly placed them upon the controls again. Lance felt warmth seep into his hands from that point of contact, and gasped as it swept all the way up his arms and into his body as he sensed something fiery rumble inside him. He closed his eyes, feeling himself gently lock into place with this new presence inside of him. It was so different from Blue. It bounced around inside him like an out of control bouncy-ball...on fire, and Lance had no hope in hell at ever catching it. How could he ever hope to pilot something like this? It was so...wild._

_But his hands were completely still._

_He had control again._

_He could do this._

_The presence inside him seemed pleased by this initiative of his, and it wrapped tightly around him, warm and solid—oh wait, no, that was just Keith, who was leaning forwards, hard, into Lance. He'd moved his hands away from Lance's on the controls and instead touched them lightly to his elbows. Lance understood why Keith wanted to remain in the seat now; Red **was** different to Blue. It was like being taken out of a polar ocean and dropped into a volcano, shocking his system. Keith centred him. _

_Next to his ear, he whispered. "You can do this. Just trust her."_ _Lance opened his eyes, feeling better than before, a strength that wasn't his own coursing through his body, numbing the pain in his limbs and lungs. "Now, just turn her around and get us the fuck out of here."_

_Lance rolled his eyes. "Shut **up** , you backseat driver." _

_Suddenly, he felt the flames inside his mind spike, blinding Lance temporarily with white-hot light, and a second later Red lurched beneath him, pouncing forwards onto her paws and he heard the distinct sound of the canon inside her mouth loading to fire. He felt fear and fury that weren't his own inside him. Lance yanked back harshly on the controls, trying to pull her back, as she growled down at the figures below her. They flinched back, eyes terrified, as they loaded their own weapons, big canon-like things that looked like they could easily punch a hole inside Red at this range. Shit._

_"Don't trust her that much!" Keith hissed, panic turning his voice harsh and annoying. "She's not like Blue, she'll challenge you. You've gotta stop her or else she'll fire at them!"_

_Shitshitshitshitshitshit, Lance panicked, feeling his hands begin to shake again. Fuck. FUCK._

_'I can't do this. I can't I can't I can't. I'm not Keith.'_

_Keith's hand moved down to cover Lance's again, pressing down, achingly hard, against the controls. His front leant heavily into Lance and he could feel the tickle of his fringe against the back of his neck as he spoke again; this time, softly. "It's okay, just let yourself feel what she does, then bring her back under control."_

_Easier said then done, she felt slippery under Lance's hands, like he couldn't quite get a grip on her and so she just fell from between his palms. With a furrowed brow Lance concentrated on feeling what she did, like Keith said, and allowed himself to slip further in, allowed the flames to consume him. He felt fear, and defensiveness, the insane urge to protect what she held inside and the frenzied scattering of her thoughts, like she didn't quite know what she was doing. He could feel the flutter of her nervousness against him, like a heartbeat. Lance recognised the feeling instantly, had seen those emotions play out in a million different ways inside two stormy eyes._

_She was like a big, giant cat version of Keith. Duh._

_Lance knew what to do instantly. He extended his mind, like fingers reaching towards a friend or comrade, and settled it around Red. He sent waves of assurance to her, just comforting her and gently pulling her away from whatever anxieties were plaguing her. He saw the flash of a fallen figure, slumped on the ground, fire spiralling up in the city behind them. Another figure with a sword in their hand, the blade dripping blood. He felt her agony, her pain and torture over this fallen figure._

_Protect._

_Protect._

_PROTECT._

_My Paladins._

_I failed._

_Cannot fail again._

_These people, their weapons, they will kill my Paladins._

_I'll kill them first._

_'Red,' Lance tried. 'Don't. They won't hurt us. We need to go, now. You're okay. You're fine.'_

_It was all Lance could get out verbally, he felt like the fire was consuming him completely and it was hard reaching for coherent thoughts._

_'Trust me,' he tried, again._

_The fire seemed to ebb inside him, like it had paused to listen to what he was going to say._

_'Let me guide you,' he insisted._

_When he opened his eyes (when had he closed them?), he saw the dark backdrop of space, splattered with thousands of twinkling stars, like freckles. Freckles for space. Yeah._

_Behind him, he felt Keith breathing in deep pants, his chest pressing hard against Lance's back and hot air continually hitting the nape of his neck. His hands were still covering Lance's, which were steady once again. Lance felt sweat running in beads down his face, his hair soaked with it and he was gasping even harder than before, taking in great heaving breaths against his burning chest. What in the world just happened? One of Keith's hands left Lance's and positioned itself on Lance's forehead, pushing back his sweaty fringe with gentle fingers. He did it again and again as Lance slowly found his breath once more. He slumped forwards, suddenly exhausted, Keith's weight on his back following his movement, draping itself over top like a blanket._

_"Lance," Keith breathed. "You did it. It's okay. I don't know how, you kinda went blank there for a sec. But somehow, in your own weird way, you did it," he laughed, which vibrated through Lance's back and into his chest, settling itself somewhere close to his heart._

_The hand still covering his on the controls slipped its fingers between his, the same way Lance had before, and he felt Keith's head fall forwards to rest against the back of Lance's neck. His nose pressed awkwardly against his skin, but Lance didn't care, he was too busy trying to stay conscious, but he felt himself slipping further and further away from himself. His entire world tilted._

_'It's okay, Paladin,' something inside his head seemed to say. 'You can rest. Thank you for guiding me.'_

_And that was it, Lance allowed the darkness to take him, fell into it with a relieved breath as he heard Keith say his name again one more time, felt it against his skin as it sunk inside like ink, imprinting himself there, permanently._

* * *

"It was an experience, to say the least," Lance chuckled when he finished explaining to Shiro.

Shiro nodded his head slowly. "Sounds like it."   

"I'll say," Hunk's voice came from the doorway, startling both Lance and Shiro, who hadn't realised he was there. Hunk smiled shyly with a shrug and walked towards them, slipping the new spoon inside Lance's grasp. Lance smiled up at him gratefully. 

"But," Shiro started, then paused and swallowed the lump in his throat. He wasn't sure if Lance and Hunk would appreciate this, but it needed to be said. "What does that mean for Keith?"

Lance's eyes swung to Shiro's, their navy-blue swimming with defiance, though it wasn't anger inside them, but a sureness. He looked like he'd just figured out everything and was waiting for them all to finally catch up. His mouth twitched into a small, sideways grin. "I have a theory."

* * *

When Lotor's father finally sent down a single aircraft for their rescue, Lotor had been more than glad to board it and get out of there as fast as he could. However, before leaving he'd blasted the half-breed's shack for good measure, taking fierce satisfaction at seeing it splinter to bits. He hoped it would hurt the brat next time he came back. Lotor had been tempted to simply fly away from Earth and never come back, but he had a plan and intended to follow through with it.

"Narti," he said, the blind woman looked over to him from her co-pilot seat, the ugly cat upon her shoulder narrowing its eyes at him. "Did you get the things I asked for?"

She nodded, the cat hissing with satisfaction when she lifted a bag by her feet. 

"Good. Take over here for me while I prepare myself." Pushing himself to his feet, Lotor picked up the bag and sauntering off to the back of the small aircraft. Before he entered the small waste disposal room, he turned to Zethrid, who sat opposite Narti in the passenger seat, feet kicked up against her foot rest and a pleased look on her face. "How's our prisoner?"

She grinned down at her footrest, who just happened to be the traitorous Galra scum. "Still alive."

"Keep him that way. But...feel free to have a little fun if the mood strikes you." He always tried to be a gracious leader, allowing his companions their fun. 

"Oh, I shall."

He disappeared into the room.

An hour later, Zethrid announced, loudly, as she always did, that they had reached their destination. He heard Ezor scolding the other General, an odd amount of harshness within her tone he hadn't heard before. In fact, Ezor had been acting increasingly off colour the last while, ever since Acxa had been taken by the Paladins. Her words a tad clipped, short and icy, and her eyes a fraction more cutting than usual. Oh, she still bounced around and obeyed Lotor's every command with the utmost diligence, but he had the suspicion the girl was missing her comrade.

"Are you ready, Prince?" she asked, knocking on the door in which he'd been preparing himself behind for the last hour. He was tired after his efforts, sitting on the floor panting and allowing his body the chance to relax. He hadn't done this in years.

"I'm ready," he replied, pulling himself to his feet and opening the door to step out again. Ezor stepped back with a gasp, her eyes going round. Zethrid smirked, crossing her arms and Narti said nothing, of course, but he heard the cat purr in appreciation on her shoulder.

"Nicely done," Zethrid complimented. "Certainly looking the part."

"Yes, I admit. I did a rather good job this time round." He turned to Narti with a grin, it felt strange and foreign on his face. "Open the hatch."

She nodded and pressed a button. There was a whoosh of air and then the door behind him slipped open. Feeling a little stiff, Lotor stretched his arms in a series stretches Haggar had taught him to relieve his cramping muscles, feeling strange and alien in the garments he wore. They felt loose, ill-fitting and gaping in areas he wasn't used to. His heart thundered in his chest when he stepped outside, the sun once again beating hotly down on him. Though it was different to that awful desert, the air felt damp, pressing in close around him and every breath felt thick and sticky, as though it became lodged in his chest. Earthen weather was strange shocking.

He turned back to his generals. "You know your missions. See to it that you complete them."

"Sir," they saluted, and a moment later the door slid shut, the cloaked pod speeding off into the sky, invisible to the rest of the world.

Pulling out his tracker, he followed it to the coordinates he had set it to, coming up to stand in front of a large building, a white crooked gate hanging precariously on its hinges and a dead, ash-grey tree sitting limply at the front left of the house. As he slowly made his way up the front path, closing the gate with a loud squeak behind him—the pavement a little wobbly with various cracks and loose stones—he took in the curious details of the front facade. The first thing he noted was that it was a fitting shade of blue, faded and cracking in certain areas, and the front garden was neat and meticulously well kept, blooming colourfully with a vast array of flowers, and Lotor could even hear foreign creatures singing their songs from within the shrubbery and trees. When he reached the entrance he noticed a strange circular object by the steps with a interweaving pattern of black and white shapes, it looked partially deflated, with various scuffs and marks marring its surface. Well used; well loved.

He pulled the white, wire door open, wincing as it scraped harshly against the ground and raised his hand to knock on the next door, this one made out of something solid, dancing patterns of colour decorating the front. As soon as his hand finished knocking, he heard voices and heavy thumps—feet, he reasoned, small ones and multiple of them—all getting closer to the door. There were older voices as well, feminine and masculine, sounding vexed at the younger ones. Suddenly the small feet stopped right in front of the door. Lotor held his breath.

There was a rattle and the door was flying open, a gush of cool air mercifully meeting Lotor's sweaty face. He heard a twin set of gasps below him and looked down to see two Earthen children ogling up at him with shocked faces. The female one raised a hand to her mouth and the male one took a couple of steps backwards.

"Children," came another voice, female. Lotor glanced down the hallway towards it. A figure appeared around the corner, short and with paler skin than that of dear Blue. "Who is it—" She cut herself off mid-sentence as her eyes met Lotor's, a strangled gasp punched out of her as a hand flew to her mouth. Lotor saw her mouth form a soundless word, and knew exactly what it was. He reined in a satisfied smirk at the three shocked expressions in front of him, and instead flattened it out into a soft smile, like he imagined dear Blue would.  

See, Lotor was half Altean, people seemed to forget that part, or they simply ignored it, and a handy trait that came with that certain line of heritage was this. Zarkon had never told him who his mother was, only that she was Altean, that's all he ever gave. However, it was all Lotor needed. His mother had given him enough. Given him a gift that had opened many doors for him in the past. He'd seen it work wonders, and always had a front row-seat to watch its effects.

As he did now, he thought with satisfaction, watching the small woman slowly make her way closer to Lotor, her clear, blue eyes scanning over his face desperately, tears brimming in the corners. The two children had moved back to allow her a clear path towards him, still gaping at him. The woman was only a small distance away now, her face impossibly paler while she stared disbelieving at him. Her eyes were massive, and Lotor could see himself reflected inside them; lanky body, short brown hair, golden skin and two deep, blue eyes.

"Lance?" she whispered, voice thin and wobbly.

He blinked, forcing out his own tears, always adept in the art at lying, and allowed his smile to turn watery. He splayed out his arms before him.

"I'm home, mother."  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Ahhh, that was interesting to write. I'm sweating now. I just showered, so that's unfair. 
> 
> Twitter: @aBluePaladin  
> Instagram: @sidney.jean
> 
> Hope you enjoy!! Love you lots! xoxoxoox


	9. Thirty-One + 14: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has another vivid dream, entwining his and Shiro's fate together, not necessarily for the best. Pidge and Hunk talk, Keith tries, and reveals terrible things. Narti steals the spotlight.

You know how Keith said he had really vivid dreams? Yeah, he wasn't joking. 

He dreamt of Shiro, again. It was annoying, he thought he'd grown out of Shiro related dreams once Voltron first began, but apparently not.

Shiro was in a darkened room, a large one, which echoed the sound of his sobs as he knelt against the ground. Keith stood behind him, looming over top of his leader's trembling shoulders, his heart feeling strangely dislodged at the sight of the person he admired so much looking so incredibly...weak. In front of him, Keith noticed a faint ebb of purple begin to glow, slowly lighting up the empty space around them. He saw it reflect off the shiny surface of Shiro's armour, saw the way his shoulders hunched even more as the purple light began to shine spectacularly in front of them.

 _"Shiro,_ _"_ Keith tried, his voiced hushed.  _"Shiro, what's wrong?"_

He muttered something incomprehensible to himself and Keith carefully came around his friend to crouch next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He could hear him from this position. 

_"Failed. I failed. I'm not worthy anymore. I can't be here. I want, I want—I want."_

Shiro couldn't seem to finish what he was saying, his fractured breaths catching his words half way up his throat, and then he choked on them, his metal hand flying to his throat. Keith couldn't see his eyes because they were squeezed tightly shut, crinkled with distress. 

 _"Shiro. Tell me what you need,"_ Keith soothed, he felt the deep thrum of energy radiating from the purple mass in front of him. It electrified his blood, making it static and dangerous inside of him. 

Shiro cried out suddenly, as if he felt the same thing, and for the first time Keith noticed the cracks running through his armour, splitting it open to reveal something glowing inside it. Keith's stomach lurched. 

 _"I need. I need to go home. I don't want to be here anymore. Why am I so weak?"_ Shiro's voice broke off into another series of sobs at the end of this and Keith drew back to look with horror down at the Black Paladin. He heard something growl from within the purple mass.  _"It's too much. I just want to feel home again."_

This seemed to displease the thing prowling inside the purple mass, as its growl picked up into a frightening roar which sent Shiro reeling back on his hands and had him wriggling backwards away from it. Keith saw the cracks inside his armour begin to glow brighter, yellow seeping through. 

_"What are you talking about, Shiro? You're our leader. We need you here."_

_"No! I need to go home. My heart, it's changed. The shoes don't fit anymore. I've tried. But every day I see the blue one slip a little more, and yellow no longer trusts me, and green doubts me, pink questions me. And red—red is the worst of them all."_ Shiro's words were like an arrow to the chest, sending pain reeling through his body. Keith's expression collapsed as the purple began to creep forwards, fingers reaching out for him.  _"Red has stolen from me. Red is the colour of a thief."_

 _"I haven't stolen anything from you!"_ Keith felt his voice crack at the end, turning thin and weak. The backs of his eyes burned.  _"Stop being like this. Come back to us! Stop hiding."_

Keith still couldn't see Shiro's eyes. He'd raised a hand to cover his face, pressing his metal fingers into his eyes like he wanted to squeeze them out. Behind Keith, the fingers reaching for him from within the purple mass brushed against his nape, making him shiver as a power he'd never felt before seeped into him. Shiro gasped at the same time Keith's hands fell against the cool metal of the ground, feeling this new thing soak into his very being. 

 _"Shiro, look at me,"_ Keith commanded, panting hard. He felt the power, these hands, circle his heart and filter itself through his lungs.  _"Look at me! This power, it's not meant for me, you need to take it back! I don't want it!"_

Shiro shook his head against his hand, his entire body was seeping yellow from within the cracks, and a sad smile plagued his face.  _"Red. Do you hate me?"_

 _"Of course not,"_ Keith sobbed. It _hurt._ Oh God, the stuff inside him, it was hurting so much and he bit down a whine as it drove him closer to the ground. 

_"You should. I have only, and will only, ever continue to bring you pain. You should hate me for it."_

_"Shut the fuck up! Shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP!"_ Keith gagged as he felt something slipping up his throat, stealing his breath from him as it slithered its way up. It slid against his tonsils, over his tongue, against his teeth and spilled from his lips. A hand. Purple, made from something like smoke or mist; it wrapped itself around Keith's face and _tugged._ Away from Shiro, who's hand had slipped down from his face to rest limply on the ground, eyes hung downwards, cutting Keith off.  

_No. No._

_Please, no._

_Don't do this to me._

Keith tried screaming against the thing clogging up his throat, but only managed a strangled moan while it continued to pull him further back towards the purple mass. He felt it electrocute his skin as was forced closer to it, felt the flesh burn and peel away from his bones. 

_SHIRO, DON'T DO THIS TO ME._

_I CAN'T TAKE THIS._

_"K_ _eith,"_ Shiro began mournfully. _"I'm so sorry."_

Finally, he looked up to Keith. But what he saw brought none of the comfort Keith had been hoping for; what he saw was not a pair of comforting, dark eyes, but two yellow husks. As if his eyes had been carved out, leaving only empty space. And that space...it...it glowed yellow, as if the inside of Shiro was made up of this yellow light that was gradually slipping through all the cracks of his body. From within of the empty sockets he had for eyes, blood dripped over his cheeks and splattered on the ground like tears. 

_Shiro._

_"I never meant to hurt you like this, Keith. I was supposed to be stronger,"_ he said miserably, the cracks growing until there was more yellow than Shiro. 

 _You never hurt me!_ Keith couldn't get the words out—felt his entire body being electrocuted by this energy drawing him in to its depths. But he still fought against it, as fruitless as it might be.  

Shiro smiled sadly.  _"Not yet. But I will. I wish you didn't have to, but now you need to wake up."_

_No._

There was a defiant growl behind him, and something huge looming above, its own eyes glowing yellow as well. The hand wrapped around his face tugged harder, tearing at the skin of his face. Shiro was standing and turning away now, his back to Keith, the yellow cracks like ungodly scars.

 _"This is your power now, Keith. I hope you do better than I did—and Zarkon."_ Suddenly there was a figure beside Shiro, huge and menacing, dwarfing the Black Paladin, as he reached an arm out to take him by the shoulder. Over his shoulder, Zarkon's eyes met Keith's, purple, like the power inside him right now, tearing him to pieces. 

 _"This is the fate of all who command the Black Lion. We all end up broken, in one way or another."_ He sounded...grave, devastated, even.  _"I hope for your sake, you do better than either of us. One: fractured by his heart. The other: torn between homes. What is it that will break you, I wonder?"_

Keith sat bolt upright as the dream shattered to pieces around him, a hoarse cry breaking free of his gasping lungs. His entire body was soaked through with sweat, staining the sheets with his own terror like some kind of fucked up painting. His hand clutched his throat as the sensation of the hand inside of him gradually faded into nothing but a horrible memory. When he felt the tears, hot against his skin, drip over his cheeks he instantly wiped them away, remembering the way the blood had fallen from Shiro's bottomless eyes. 

Something terrifying scratched at his brain, it felt impatient, it wanted him to follow. 

 _Get up,_ it seemed to say.  _Come._

Keith, flinching against this presence inside him, automatically lifted his feet out of his bed, the cool metal against his bare feet not comforting like it once was. He felt compelled, but his heart seemed to pull back against it, unwilling to follow. However, Keith's body had always been stronger than his heart, or his head, for that matter, and his legs began moving on their own accord. All the while he felt sick with terror. He didn't want this, whatever  _this_ was. 

_I don't want it!_

But when had Keith ever gotten what he wanted? 

* * *

Shiro fell asleep outside Black's barrier that night, the metal floor biting into his skin painfully, but he didn't care. Not when he was struggling to control his racing heart after another nightmare. This one was the most vivid of them all. He recalled feeling as though something was being torn from him, the sensation of someone's pleading voice inside his head, the vision of hundreds of yellow cracks tearing his body apart. But it was all quickly fading from his memory, leaving him terrified for reasons he knew not. 

The shuddering of the hanger doors drew a startled shout out of Shiro and he pulled himself upright, his Paladin armour creaking with his movements. Whipping his head around to the doors, he saw Keith's lithe form walking slowly towards him, eyes dark, and wide, his pale skin pulling harshly over his bones with terror. 

"Keith?" Shiro croaked, dragging a hand through his hair. "What are you doing here? You should be in bed. You haven't been trying to train with Lance again have you?" 

Keith didn't answer him, just contuied to walk unseeingly towards the Black Lion, where he stopped besides Shiro. 

Shiro watched Keith watch the barrier, felt like it returned both of their gazes itself. For reasons unknown to him, his heart started kicking up a storm inside his chest again, causing his ribs to ache against the force of it. Nervousness slithered inside his gut. He felt like there was a string attached between Keith and him, stretched taught as electricity crackled between it.

"Keith?" he tried again. He felt an odd sense odd deja vu as Keith's eyes slipped down to meet his. He looked ready to cry and it broke Shiro's heart after spending so many years trying to wipe that look off his face.

"I had a strange dream just before, but it's slipping away from me now. But, were you...were you there, Keith? Why are you here now? I don't understand." 

Shockingly, a tear slipped free from Keith's eye and his hand began to raise up towards the barrier. Shiro's eyes tracked it suspiciously, wondering what he was planning. He trusted Keith, God did he ever, but even he couldn't deny that seeing someone so close to his lion sent panic racing through him. Shiro had told Keith he wanted him to lead, and he knew that entailed piloting the Black Lion, knew Keith was capable enough. But, why did he suddenly feel like he wanted to snap at Keith to stay away? It wasn't fair. It was selfish.

But Shiro had been nothing but selfish lately, Lance and Hunk had both pointed that out to him.

"I'm here to steal something from you. But I'm also here to set you free," Keith said flatly, despite the devastation on his face. "Despite how much I don't want to do it, despite how much I know it will hurt you—I don't have a choice." His voice cracked here, and so did Shiro's heart, as his hand touched the barrier and it fell immediately with a crackle of energy.

More tears continued to spill free from Keith's eyes as he watched Shiro with a gradually shattering expression. Hand still raised, his hair whipped around his face as the Black Lion began to haul itself up with a terrifying roar. It blew the tears from Keith's face and sent them splattering onto Shiro's, who blinked slowly up at the Red Paladin in shock. This was what he always wanted, right? To see Keith follow in his footsteps?

So why did it hurt so much to see him in Shiro's place?

Why was he so confused?

What did Earth _do_ to him? 

Why was his entire universe crashing down around him, with Keith at the centre of it all?

* * *

Lance was supposed to be sleeping. Those were the terms and conditions of him finally being returned to his room, drip still connected to his arm as they waited for the new food goo to do its job, but at least feeling a lot more comfortable back in his own space.

Pidge and Hunk sat on Lance's bed with him, chatting about nonsense as they tried to bore the Blue (Red?) Paladin to sleep. He'd commed both of them an hour ago complaining of restlessness and they'd raced over instantly, knowing exactly what he required.

Back in the Garrison Lance had found sleeping a rather tedious thing; the bed was too hard, too thin, too different from his familiar one at home. His bed smelled like that flowery laundry powder his mother used, but the Garrison's smelt like...nothing. They were blank and terrifying. The noises around him were different, too. They sounded mechanical, methodical and foreign compared to the familiar crash of the ocean waves and the hum of the crickets that surrounded him at home. It used to send Lance spiralling into a pool of anxiety. It wasn't home. 

If he were honest, the Garrison never felt like home, no matter how accustom he became to it.

So, Hunk, and sometimes Pidge, if she were feeling particularly rebellious one night, would creep into his bed and start talking nonsense about computers, engineering and all sorts of things Lance didn't understand. Their voices would wash over him, calming like his mother's always had been, and gradually rocked him to sleep. Usually rocked him right into Hunk's shoulder or Pidge's lap. 

So, when they rushed over tonight, they instantly knew what he needed. He adored them for that. 

Really, he adored his friends. He said as much to Pidge when he leant tiredly against her small form, allowing his head to fall over top of her own. She'd complained about this, claiming he was giving her neck a cramp, but she didn't move or dislodge him. 

God, they were adorable. 

* * *

"Do you think he's asleep?" asked Hunk, who gingerly took up Lance's jittery hand in his own to check his drip was still secure, repositioning some of the cords.

"Do you remember how many times he tried to beat us at staying awake the longest, but was always the first to conk it? Yeah, I'm pretty sure this is a repeat. If he were awake he would have gone all macho on your ass for asking that, bragging about how he'll beat us both," Pidge laughed, feeling Lance's warmth engulf her. Ever since he'd been chosen as the new Red Paladin he'd run a slightly higher temperature, an interesting development Pidge had stored away in her ever-growing catalogue of 'weird-unexplainable-lion-things.'

Very soon though, after approximately a hundred and twenty-four ticks, Pidge began to feel a little too warm having Lance pressed up so closely to her side, snoring softly into the crook of her neck after it fell from its original position. It was a strange sensation, and it made her nervous and flighty. _Boys_ made her nervous and flighty at times, especially ones like Lance, who was completely unashamed to suddenly claim people as his own cuddle pole. So, feeling the butterflies inside her stomach, Pidge had hissed at Hunk:

"He's gonna break my back soon, do you think you can pull him off me so we can tuck him in bed?"

Nodding, Hunk went to gently tug Lance away from Pidge, cradling his floppy head inside one of his large hands to settle him back down on his mound of pillows. He burrowed himself in contently, doing that thing where he hooked the blanket between his legs and pulled them up towards his chest. Lance was a strange and curious thing, but that was nothing new.

"Do you think he's okay, Pidge?" Hunk broke the silence suddenly, a frown tugging at his lips. "He says he's okay, but his hands still shake and he's literally relying on a drip to keep him healthy at the moment. He tells me some of his worries, but I don't think he's giving me the whole story. I think he's still wary after what we said to each other, and so am I. I hate it, but there's nothing I can do about it, I can't force anything." Hunk's voice was low and mournful, the dim blue lighting of the room cutting across his face harshly, turning his face skeletal-like.

Pidge, sitting beside Lance's sleeping face, brushed a hand over his forehead, shifting some of the hair away. It had grown longer recently, creeping further down his head. "I think he's just worried about where he stands at the moment. You remember how stressed he got when he felt like he was falling behind in his classes? How much pressure he put on himself to do well, always wanting to impress his family? To prove himself. I think it's kinda like that all over again. He's terrified he's letting us down, so he's trying to catch up, ignoring how it hurts him in the process."

"His hands don't help, either," Hunk said, still holding one between his palms, massaging between the joints and flesh. 

"No, they don't," Pidge agreed, solemnly. "He's been pushing himself because he thinks that's what makes a person strong. Keith pushed himself like that when he participated in those Marmora trials. Shiro pushed himself while drugged and weakened to escape the Galra. He thinks that acts like those are the pinnacle of what it means to be strong."

Hunk nodded, but his eyes were still shadowed. "Perhaps, but I think it's more than that. He's afraid of something, and it has to do with Lotor, I know it. That's the part he won't tell me. Every time I ask him about what Lotor did to him he shuts down. I don't know what to do."

Before Pidge could answer there was a knock at the door, then it slid open not even a second later, revealing Keith, who flinched when he saw both Hunk and Pidge sitting with Lance. The first thing Pidge noticed was that he looked absolutely awful, his eyes red and dry, and his lips cracked and jittering as his gaze swept nervously over the two of them. When he found Lance sleeping peacefully between them, his entire body visibly relaxed a fraction.

Hunk's face was stony. "You know, when you knock you're supposed to wait until the person in the room says it's okay to enter. What if Lance were butt naked?"

"Nothing I haven't seen before," Keith deadpanned, unaware of the implication of those words.  

Pidge choked halfway through swallowing her own spit, hacking up a series of coughs. Trust Keith to say something stupid as that. _Trust._

Hunk didn't seem to find this the least bit entertaining, however, and if anything, his face became even darker. Pidge edged away from him a fraction, felt like the shadows around him hissed. Hunk only turned dangerous if things were really serious, and he was looking at Keith now like he would gladly throw him out of the room, maybe implant his face against the wall while he was at it.

"What do you mean by that?" Hunk asked, carefully, dangerously.

Keith didn't seem to pick up on Hunk's tone. "Uhh, just, and akward shower experience on Lotor's ship," he responded, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. His answer seemed to satisfy Hunk well enough, but his face was still dark while his eyes remained fastened on Keith. "Umm, anyway, is he asleep?" He nodded towards Lance's form on the bed.

"Do you think he would've let you get away with that if he wasn't?" Pidge scoffed.

"True," was Keith's only response, and Pidge saw his shoulders fall at this realisation. He was disappointed in not being able to talk to Lance. Curious.  

"Did you need to speak with him? It's kinda random coming during the middle of the night, though honestly after the shit you two pulled, I'm not surprised," Pidge waved a hand. "If something's bothering you, you could always talk to us? You know, seeing as we're friends and all. We should probably start trusting each other again. For the record, I'm sorry about calling you out the other day, but it had to be done."

"No it didn't, Pidge. You just wanted to stir him up," Hunk sighed, his eyes closing.

Pidge pushed out her bottom lip in a pout. "True. Allura had a lot to say about that, so I'll try to not be an ass like that again. Sorry, Keith."

Keith looked a little lost in the middle of this, eyes wide and strained, as if he was having trouble understanding what was going on. He still looked panicked as well—a concern. When Pidge saw the way his mouth hung open, moving slightly as he seemingly fought to find the right words to say, she realised what the problem is. He didn't know how to contribute to the conversation, didn't know where to insert himself, or how. He was confused about the pace of the conversation and the mechanics of how to be a part of it. Small talk, his kryptonite.

Pidge took pity on him. "If you want to chat to Lance I'd suggest coming back in the morning. But you look like you need someone to talk to right now. Did something happen?"

Keith tilted forwards, his mouth reopening again, on the verge of words and Pidge leaned forwards in anticipation. Hunk even rose an interested brow, both of them supremely curious in a Keith that consoled in _them,_ of all people. But something panicked flashed inside his eyes, which had his mouth snapping shut and sent him backwards a few steps, towards the doors. Pidge could see the careful way he tried to hold his face together, but she also saw the brittleness of his expression, saw the way it cracked at the edges.

"Keith?" Hunk tried.

"I—I'm fine. Don't worry about me, I'll just...leave. Sorry for bothering you," he muttered, words tumbling over each other in his hurry to escape the room. When he disappeared around the corner Pidge and Hunk gave each other a worried look. 

"This is Shiro's department," Hunk tried to reason. "Not ours. We'll probably just make it worse if we try and help."

Pidge's gaze hooked itself on the empty doorway again, unconvinced. "I'm not so sure. Something tells me that this is _because_ of Shiro. It would be risky to leave him by himself right now." 

"So what are you going to do about it?"

" _Me_?" Pidge squawked, patting Lance's head with an apology when he shuffled restlessly.  

"You're the one that wanted to 'talk.'" He used an offensive set of air quotations at this, which had Pidge screwing up her nose.

"Fine," she mumbled, dragging herself away from the bed with an exaggerated huff to let Hunk know just how annoyed she was. She brought this on herself, of course she knew that, but it didn't mean she wasn't going to kick even a little storm. Hurrying out the door she chased after the direction she saw Keith go, which thankfully only happened to be a short one as she came up to the front of Keith's door, having just caught them sound of them slamming shut behind him. Knocking, she barrelled in before she heard him give his permission.

It was probably the worst decision of her life. With a harsh shout, she covered her eyes as Keith froze in the middle of dropping his shirt to the ground, revealing a large portion of pale, taught skin which had her insides flipping upside down. Stupid boys. 

"Gahh! You don't waste any time stripping, do you?! You probably already had it halfway over your head when you were walking in," she squealed, diverting her eyes to the side. 

"I thought Hunk said you need to wait for a person's permission to enter their room?" he answered, sound vastly unaffected by her presence, though still miserable as hell.  

She shrugged. "It's your room, so I thought I'd take a page out of your book." 

"That makes no sense. Now can you get out?" he said, pulling on another shirt that looked exactly the same as the last. 

Pidge shook her head, stepping further into the room. "Something's bothering you, and by the looks of it you're just gonna bottle it up inside. You have this like extremely short window for getting stuff off your chest, I've noticed, and if we don't catch you in that time you'll never open up for us. So what's up?" She tried smiling, to lighten up the mood, but it seemed to have no effect on Keith's crestfallen expression. 

He sunk down onto his bed. She noticed the dark patch of sweat on the sheets and quickly reeled in her concern. When his head fell inside his trembling hands and he drew in a broken breath it spiked again, however. Something had gone terribly wrong. 

"Pidge, I fucked up." 

"That's nothing new," she shrugged, coming down to sit beside him, though she kept a polite distance between the two of them. Keith wasn't someone she knew how to handle in times like this and it would be best to allow him his space. 

"I'm _serious_ , Pidge. I really did it this time," he hissed, removing his hands from his face and looking down at her with dreadful eyes. He looked broken. 

She'd really bitten off more than she could chew here. 

Oh well. 

"What did you do?"

"The Black Lion chose me as her Paladin."

Her mouth fell open, though no words followed it. Her mind was reeling. When had this even happened? What did that mean for Shiro? _Keith_ as their leader? She knew it was what Shiro wanted, but _the lion_? Surely the lion knew better than Shiro. It was all a bunch of unsolvable equations inside her head right now and there were no conceivable answers. Eventually she found her words. "Okay, but that doesn't really explain why you fucked up, it was her choice, so...her fuck up, not yours."

"That's not all of it."

She waited for 'all of it' with a flat expression, watching the way his eyes scanned nervously over her face.

"I didn't fly her. Once she chose me, I lifted the barrier, and that's all. After that, I walked away. And now..."

"You've fractured the bond," Pidge gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "Fuck, Keith, you weren't kidding. Holy shit."

"I _know._ I know," Keith strained out, his eyes screwing shut with pain. "This is bad, you don't need to tell me twice. I can already feel it. It's like there's this jagged piece of glass inside me that keeps getting caught on all my insides. But when she accepted me Shiro was there and, shit, he looked like I'd just taken everything away from him, just ripped it out of his hands. He'd been clinging to this hope that Black would eventually open for him again, and I stole her right from under his fingers. I—I couldn't stand the thought of flying her in front of him."

"But, Keith, if your bond is fractured—" 

"I know!" he snarled, voice low and deadly. "We can't form Voltron with a fractured bond. God, I'm such a screw up." 

She wasn't sure she could argue with that logic. Keith had made many hotheaded mistakes in the past which had led them all into dangerous territory. So had Pidge, so in a sense, she understood him—this small fraction of himself that he was currently so ashamed of. She watched as he turned his face away from her and clenched his fists into a ball to press against his mouth. 

"What about Shiro?" she asked, and saw him flinch, like he didn't even want to think about Shiro. 

"He was gone by the time I turned around. I still couldn't bring myself to fly her even then." 

Oh, God. 

This was bad. This was terrible, terrible news. Voltron just couldn't catch a break these days and it was really starting to mess with her. She felt frayed and stretched far too thin. But she looked at Keith, saw the almost tangible pain inside him, like she could reach out in touch it in the air, and knew that whatever she was feeling, he was feeling it a thousand times worse. 

Tentatively, she reached a hand up to his shoulder, touching it gently, testing the waters, when he didn't flinch or shove it away she settled it there properly. "It's okay," she reassured. "We'll figure it out. This is nothing we can't handle."

An uneven breath rattled out of his chest and his entire upper body sunk forwards, collapsing in on himself. But he nodded, taking in her words. He was listening. 

"I took everything Shiro had from him. Just ripped it away. Voltron was all that he had left, he has no family left on Earth except an aunt who doesn't even remember who he is."

"Well," she started slowly. "There must have been something on Earth that's been splitting his heart. I saw the way he looked at it when Hunk and I flew him out, he looked like he just wanted to dive back down. That's probably why Black let him go."

"Probably. Doesn't make it fair, though."

"No," Pidge agreed. "But since when has Voltron ever been fair on any of us?"

* * *

When Narti arrived in front of the prison cell door that held prisoner 18902 Kova purred happily upon her shoulder, rubbing up against the side of her neck. Through his eyes, she could see the faded number on the front of the door. Her hand upon the guard's back, she pushed through her silent command for him to unlock the door. He did so, and a moment later she pulled back her hand and sent him collapsing the the ground in a heap.

With Kova's enhanced vision she could see the shape of someone shivering inside the cell, curled up in the far corner. She could smell their fear, ripe and fresh, now that she were here, and not just a regular guard. Heard the slight indrawn gasp as she stalked forwards, her tail swishing threateningly behind her.

When Kova's eyes met that of the older man on the ground he hissed, leaping from her shoulder and onto the ground before him, backing up him even further inside his corner. His striking golden eyes were alight with unbridled terror as Kova pushed his face in close, baring his teeth. 

When the Green Paladin's father gulped, Narti felt satisfaction thrum through her bones.

"Please don't kill me," he begged, voice rough with disuse. "I—I have a family. Children." 

"I know," the automated voice she sometimes used said. It translated her thoughts for her, a handy tool, though she mostly elected not to use it. "You can thank your daughter for this soon enough."

Swift as lightening she sent her foot colliding into his head, knocking him unconscious in an instant, blood slipping free from his fragile, human flesh.

Mission complete—almost. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Huh, I enjoyed writing this one a lot. Does that make me a bad person? 
> 
> Anyway, I have an essay to submit. Good luck to me! *cries*
> 
> Enjoy, my beauties. xoxoxox


	10. Thirty-One + 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have a group chat, those things are always angsty. Ezor has a lot on her mind. Keith is still struggling with emotions, he blames Shiro, and some pirates, and a lion. And himself.

That morning during breakfast it was Allura who opened the can of worms the rest of the team had been so studiously avoiding.

"I count only four other Paladins here. Where is Shiro?" she asked through a mouthful of goo. Somehow Lance managed to rein in his laugh because, oh wow, that was _adorable._  

Coran, seated at the head of the table, answered as he pulled at his moustache. "I saw him in the observation room about a varga ago."

"That was a _varga_ ago, where is he now? We need to re-discuss our plans for retrieving Kolivan and re-forming our alliances. And we must begin preparations for our—what was it called again, Pidge?" she asked, turning to the Green Paladin, who was in the middle of wiping her glasses down, nose scrunched up adorably. 

Lance sighed. Girls were  _adorable._

He could really go for a girlfriend right now. 

"Our commercial. Every man, child, woman and their pet are gonna want a piece of us once I'm done with it," she smirked. 

"Exactly," Allura nodded. "So, we need Shiro _here_. In this varga." 

Keith, seated beside Lance with his arms crossed and mouth a stubborn line across his face, replied, "Just leave him alone for now. He's not feeling up to it."

"Lance isn't feeling up to it either, yet here he is," Hunk said venomously, taking Lance by surprise. It was a compliment but it felt more like a weapon against Keith, who only turned his head away from the Yellow Paladin. Pidge, seated opposite Keith and besides Hunk looked nervously between the two of them. Allura and Coran rose a brow at each other and Lance gagged as he swallowed down a mouthful of purple food goo.

When everyone's eyes shot to him he cringed back with an uncomfortable smile. "Sorry, this stuff still tastes like ass—"

"Don't say it," Hunk pleaded.

"—and not the fun kind." Cue finger guns. 

Everyone groaned, their heads dropping into their hands in various states of revulsion. "Dude," Hunk said, looking offended. "You can't use the same nasty joke as yesterday."

Lance grinned and tilted back in his chair, arms crossed. "Doesn't count if you're the only person in the room that has heard it."

"Are you saying I don't count?"

"I'm saying you're like an amplifier for my jokes. I need you around to back me up and therefore make me look more hilarious."

"Since when are you hilarious?" Pidge smirked, rolling her eyes. 

"Since when do you know what an amplifier is?" Hunk joined in.  

" _Paladin's,_ concentrate," Allura sighed from Lance's other side. She had a couple of clips pulling back her fringe from her face, making her cheekbones look razor sharp as the light in the room caught on them. Lance kinda wanted to cut himself on them. 

 _That_ was a strange thought. He'd been having a lot of those lately. He blamed the purple food goo. 

Something had been nagging at him every time he looked at Allura lately, and from the tightness of her face, she had been feeling it to. They'd been ignoring each other because of it—because they didn't want to bring it up. They didn't want to face it's reality. 

 _Allura?_ _Blue?_ he tried, but was greeted with nothing but dead silence inside his mind.

It had him deflating in his seat, which seemed to catch Keith's attention, as he rose a brow curiously at Lance. Lance just glanced at his hands, which were clenched shakily on either side of his bowl.

So that was that, huh? No more Blue and no more Allura. It was impossible not feel even a little robbed. He felt empty without them inside his head anymore; they'd had a good thing going the three of them. Distraction enough, however, was this new, wild presence inside his mind. Red. God, she was an attention seeker, nothing like Blue, who always hung gently at the back of his mind. Not at all like Red, who wanted Lance's attention 24/7, always pushing her way up to the front, clawing at his brain like it was a scratching post. She was like a needy girlfriend and now that she trusted Lance, she wouldn't _stop._ Lance honestly didn't know how Keith handled it so calmly, he felt like he was going to snap at any moment.

It was exhausting.  

"As I was saying," Allura continued. Lance saw her eyes duck to him for a second before they bounced back to Pidge and Hunk in front of her. "I want to conduct a mission to Earth in the next few quintents. The Blade has contacted the Castle many times asking about Kolivan's whereabouts, and they're becoming suspicious that something has gone wrong. Well, even more wrong than usual." She flipped her hand and a screen appeared in front of each of them, displaying a list of plans. "I've gone ahead and made up a plan for us to follow. I want it to be followed meticulously by you all. Simply follow the instructions and don't go throwing yourselves into something dangerous _without_ communicating with your comrades first. We need to trust each other."

Lance scanned over Allura's plans: they were simple enough, two teams dispatched onto Earth, one to track Kolivan from his last known location, and the other was to scan the remains of Lotor's battle cruiser (whatever was left after the humans picked through it) and scan for signs of the Prince's survival. All the while they'd be filmed as they underwent their tasks constructively, which would later be edited and broadcasted. Simple.

Lance only saw one tiny problem that he could probably leave unmentioned, but it was nipping at his pride. Damn it all to hell.

"I don't see my name anywhere on here," he said slowly, scanning over it a fifth time in case he missed it. He hadn't. "Keith and Hunk are to search for Kolivan while you, Shiro and Pidge scan for Lotor. Coran is to be in control of filming everything. But...what about me?"

"Before you take it the wrong way, you need to take a look at your arm," Allura said, commanding, but not unkindly. He did as she asked, scowling at the drip still inside him. "That thing inside your arm is the reason you won't participate, at least not in combat. I want you to organise the footage we gather and make it look convincing. You've always had a flare for the dramatic, so there is no one else I would trust this with. If you agree to step down for now and take this task instead I'll grant you your lessons with Keith once again. Your health should be your priority right now."

Keith's head flipped around, his eyes fastening on Allura with an unreadable expression. It wasn't quite approval, but probably about as close it would get considering his current putrid mood. He'd been angsty ever since they ran into each other in the hallway this morning, Lance dragging the wheelie thing for his drip behind him. Keith had immediately, wordlessly, taken it upon himself to roll it around for Lance, though when Lance tried to thank him he simply mumbled something incomprehensible under his breath.

Lance was watching Allura from the corner of his eye when she turned to look at him face on, ignoring Keith's penetrating gaze over his shoulder. When a tiny grin quirked its way onto her lips he couldn't help a shy one of his own. How could he deny her reasoning? He'd been improving the last two days after finally getting some proper rest and knew she was absolutely, completely, correct. He was still anxious about tackling his hands' issues, but at least he could pilot again, a weight off his shoulders.

Somehow whenever he laid them on Red's controls his hands became still, like they used to be, however, as soon as he removed them they were back to trembling uselessly. He'd been restless to sneak off to her hanger simply to sit there for a couple hours and pretend his hands were his own again.

"I trust your judgement," he assured Allura, and she nodded resolutely back at him.

"Now," she soldiered on, her eyes slipping over his shoulder to meet Keith's. "You have something on your mind—don't bother denying it, I can see your hands clenching and unclenching under the table—so you're going to come out with it right now. No more secrets. If it's detrimental to our mission—"

"The Black Lion chose me as her Paladin," Keith interrupted immediately, eyes rushing to hook themselves on his plate of untouched food. There was a furious crease between his eyebrows as he scrunched them together. His eyes looked shiny, like he was about to cry. 

"That's great!" Coran cheered, rushing to his feet. 

"Yeah, way to go, hotshot," Lance whooped, swinging a casual arm up to hang it over Keith's shoulder, grinning down at him. Keith's face remained fastened on his utensils, none of that terrible anger in his expression loosening. If anything, the attention only seemed to make him angrier and it had Lance drawing back a fraction, confused. 

"No, it's not," Pidge interjected, shaking her head. 

Lance shot her a dirty look. "No need to be a complete asshole about it, Pidge. Keith will be a great leader, once he learns to stop scowling at everything like he's the main character in a Stephenie Meyer novel." 

"I'm not talking about if he's a good leader."

Lance saw the moment before Keith blew up, saw the way he blinked slowly and forced his eyebrows impossibly closer together, saw the way his cheeks flushed with colour and the muscle flicker inside his jaw. "I didn't fly her when she chose me," he snarled. He looked up at Lance, eyes turning helpless and pleading, just for him, before he turned to the rest of them, where they hardened again. "I fractured the bond. _That's_ what's bothering me."

Lance heard Allura gasp and his hand that had been flung over Keith's shoulders slipped, falling to the back of his chair as he felt the blood drain out of his face. Hunk swallowed nervously, his eyes on Allura—Coran's too. Pidge was silent, small and huddled in her chair. Keith apparently wasn't finished, though. "And I think Shiro hates me now."

"Shiro could never hate you," Allura murmured. "I can see it in his eyes. He loves you."

Lance really wished she hadn't chosen those words. Flinched when he felt them stab through his body in a dozen different places, mostly near his heart. He had no right to feel the jealously start to pool inside him, knew that he'd been the one to deny Keith. But, Christ, it didn't stop certain words or names from hurting. He funnelled it all inside himself though. Keith and Shiro, they weren't like _that,_ at least not on Shiro's side. 

"Doesn't mean he can't hate me. I stole the Black Lion from him."

"I stole the Red Lion from you, do you hate me now?" Lance asked

"Of course not," Keith hissed, eyes flashing to Lance, as if he was offeneded Lance could even think that.

"Exactly. I don't hate Allura for stealing Blue from me so Shiro can't hate you because of this, you and I both know he's not that much of an asshole. He's just going through something at the moment. We all know how 'going through something' can look bad on the outside. They say or do one thing, but they actually mean another? We've gone through enough of that recently."

"Yeah, man. The day Shiro decides he hates you is the day Zarkon turns around and suddenly apologises for every terrible thing he did. Which, in case you're having trouble with that, means never. It will never happen," Hunk encouraged, temporarily wiping the Keith oriented snarl off his face. Hunk, bless him and his future children, knew when enough was enough...most of the time.

"I agree, Shiro is a good man. Just give him time," Coran nodded along. "However, what you've done, Keith, fracturing the bond, that may very well be detrimental to the team." Coran looked he hated the words coming out of his mouth, but they were necessary. 

"If you can't fix it, we may never be able to form Voltron again," Allura added. Both the Alteans sounded disappointed—kind, but worried and stressed about what this meant for them all. It came out wrong, and Keith took it that way. 

"I know," Keith nodded, his voice turning small and—oh god, was he about to cry? "I'm sorry. I just, with Shiro there watching me, I froze." He saw the way Keith's shoulders jerked suddenly, something inside the other boy overwhelming him. He was a moment away from breaking down.  

"That's enough," Lance cut in, his tone biting as he watched Keith solemnly. "We don't need Voltron for this mission, so just leave it for the moment. We'll figure it out. You said it _might_ not be fixable, Allura, not that it was impossible. There's still a chance."

Keith's face relaxed slightly, the tightness in his eyes and mouth loosening as his eyes stared back at Lance gratefully. All Lance could do was return it with a smile, his heart squeezing tight inside of him. 

* * *

After breakfast, Hunk watched Lance limp slowly out of the room. He still looked dreadful, arms too thin and his cheeks too shallow, however, he could slowly see his strength returning, and with that came a fire Hunk had never seen before in his friend. He'd seen it in his eyes when he noticed he wasn't included on the next mission, he'd heard it in his voice when he snapped at everyone on Keith's behalf, he felt it flutter in the air around them when he'd pushed away from the table to leave.

Lance was more determined than Hunk had ever seen. It worried him, the Red Paladin had a history of his determination leading him into bad territory, and he didn't want Lance to fall into the same trap.

When Hunk noticed Keith scurrying from his seat not a moment later and rushing off in the same direction as Lance, the bubbling rage he felt whenever he saw the other Paladin reached boiling point. It was unfair of him to feel like this towards Keith, he'd done nothing particularity wrong to spite him. But yet, there it was, sharp and terrible inside him.

_Jealously._

He was the one who'd been with Lance when he died, he was the one that hurt Lance from the very beginning, he was the one that risked Lance's life just to train. _He_ was the one that failed Lance over and over again—hurt him, pushed him, broke him. But somehow Lance always allowed him to come crawling back. Allowed him to sit just a little too close, to stare a fraction too long, to touch his arm one too many times to be merely an accident. Keith was like this wedge between Hunk and Lance, soaking up all Lance's attention for himself.

God, Hunk couldn't get these terrible thoughts out of his head. He wished Shiro had never disappeared, so he'd never had started feeling like this.

"What's wrong?" Pidge broke into his toxic thoughts. His eyes didn't stop watching Keith come up behind Lance though, didn't miss the way his hand skimmed lightly over his back—his waist. Then they disappeared into the distance. Hunk's thoughts remained though, heavy and corroding.  

"Nothing," he responded. "I just have a bad feeling."

Pidge scoffed. "When don't you have one of those?"

How true. Maybe it was because Voltron always had a bad coming thing around every corner.

* * *

Ezor had been...conflicted lately.

Nothing to do with her morality or mission, of course. Of those she was undeniably certain about. Her place was with Lotor, first and foremost; him and his wishes were her priority, she owed it to him. But, lately, whenever her thoughts turned to Acxa, captured, likely being tortured and interrogated by the Paladins of Voltron, she felt something inside her slip from its place. Her throat became thick and she found it suddenly hard to breathe. She'd ignored it at first, however, it was becoming more and more difficult as time went on.

_Where is she?_

_Is she alive?_

She recalled things out of the of the blue as well, memories she hadn't realised were ingrained into her mind suddenly popping up in the middle of a mission and distracting her. Like one did now, as she caught herself just before her camouflage dropped after thinking about the sensation of Acxa's palm against hers after a mission from a while ago. Ezor had been injured, and Acxa had been there just when she needed it most. Why did that memory in particular keeping coming up? 

Letting out a breath, Ezor refocussed her attention on the task at hand. She was in front of a small house on a very plain street. It wasn't all that interesting and Ezor was honestly a little annoyed that everything around this area was so boring, and quiet. She was hoping for somewhere more lively, with more distractions to keep her swirling mind occupied. With a groan, she begrudgingly continued her mission. If Lotor ever caught her sporting such an unsavory attitude during a mission he'd skin her alive.

She broke in with ease, slipping under an unlocked window to land in a low crouch inside a small room fitted with a couple of soft looking chairs. She'd never seen chairs that looked so...comfortable before. Earth was full of wonders, though most of them were still too boring for her tastes. These, however, these were cute. 

When she scanned the opposite direction Ezor almost jumped when she saw a tall woman enter the room. Sometimes Ezor forgot that she was invisible.

The woman's skin was a deep shade of brown and her black hair pulled into a tight bun at the top of her head. Her eyes were a glorious shade of gold. Fitting. Ezor had to admire the beautiful, colourful dress that draped around her feet and curved flatteringly around her large body. She was a very extravagant woman inside a very plain house and it confused her. It was almost enough for Ezor to hesitate.

Almost.

She pounced with frightening speed, her palm fastening around the other woman's throat to slam her back into the wall, hearing something crack. The woman shouted in terror and pain, those brilliant eyes flickering all around the place as she searched for what was holding her against the wall. Ezor could hear the fearful flutter of her heart against her ribs. With a giggle, she dropped her camouflage, watching the way the woman's face went slack and terrified as she saw who stood in front of her. Surprisingly, Ezor was shorter than this woman, and it annoyed her, so she squeezed her fingers in tighter against the woman's throat, feeling the tendons shift underneath.

The woman shouted, then gagged on it. Tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes. Somehow, though, she spoke.

" _My son_. This—you are a sign. He's alive," she squeezed out between her collapsing throat. And...she was _smiling_? Humans made no sense.

Ezor shook her head incomprehensibly. "You know, most people wouldn't be smiling with my fist wrapped around their throat. It's usually fight or beg, nothing in between. Are all you humans so stupid?"

When the woman's eyes began to flutter and roll backwards Ezor realised she may have to let up on her grip a fraction if she wanted to keep her alive.

Again, she spoke.

"Thank you, for giving me the sign I needed."

"You're welcome?" Ezor was  _confused._

When the woman finally passed out Ezor dropped her bodily to the floor, her strong stature making a heavy thump as it connected with the timber. When her head disappeared from Ezor's line of sight, she noticed something behind it, a rectangle object hanging off the wall, the glass now cracked with a splattering of red blood.

It was an image, a picture of this very same woman, younger, her face bouncier, and another man who had the same tone of skin and laughing face. They were both sitting very close, their heads bowed together in an arch as they each placed a circular object over their fingers. 

It was the way their hands touched that had Ezor leaning in closer, hands on her hips and eyes scrutinising. They were so...gentle, as if each point of contact was something infinitely precious to them. The man was looking at the woman as he encased her hand, eyes hooded and enraptured. It provoked that same memory Ezor had of Acxa suddenly. She could picture the way the other girl's eyes rested gently on her own face, the smooth slide of her hand over hers. 

It had Ezor reeling back, looking down at the unconscious woman in panic. 

She shook her head. 

 _No,_ she couldn't start thinking like this, couldn't afford to get distracted because she saw some adorable picture of two humans. Yet, when she hauled the woman up to drag her out of the house, Ezor's hands were a fraction gentler than usual. 

* * *

"Lance," Keith began while they walked silently down the the hall. His hand on his lower back had dropped by his side, where it now twitched nervously when he glanced over to Lance.

"What up, dwag?" Lance replied, throwing his hands behind his neck. The movement kind of threw his still recovering body off balance for an instant, but he managed not to collapse somehow.

Keith pulled a face, like he'd just eaten a banana or something similarly awful (fun fact: Lance would rather die than eat a banana (another fun fact: Lance did just that)).

"How can you talk like that? Just make everything so casual when we're literally in a worse position than before? How do you put that face on? Like it's all gonna be okay?" Lance was worried over how concerned Keith sounded over this. 

Snapping out a hand, Lance clasped Keith's wrist and tugged him into an intersecting hallway. When they stopped Keith stood in front of Lance, crossing his arms expectantly.

Leaning in, Lance said, "I'll tell you a secret." Positioning his mouth right next to Keith's ear and splaying a hand over his shoulder, Lance murmured, "I used to do drama classes as a kid and my instructor used to always tell us the best way to convince someone into thinking you were having a good day was to just act really, really _dumb_. So, I started gathering all these stupid-ass quotes and catchphrases from bad movies and tv shows and just inserted them into everything I said."

Lance drew back with a grin. Keith's face was twisted into something uncomprehending, his dark eyebrows like wave across his forehead. " _That's_ your advice? Act dumb and collect stupid quotes and catchphrases? That's the worst advice I've ever heard in my life."

Lance nodded, pushing his lips out in a pout. "Mhmm, definitely is. But you believed it for a while, didn't you? At the start of Voltron, you thought I was just some idiot who got lucky. And you still want to believe it. That's why you're here now, because you want someone to lighten the mood for you. You don't want to be alone with whatever is going on inside your head."

Keith turned sideways and scowled at the opposite wall instead. Lance flopped his head to the side, watching him with keen eyes. The hallway they were in was dark, shadows creeping in around them from all angles, and Keith was turned towards one of those shadows, obscuring his expression from Lance.

Lance, his mood a strange and shifting thing today, drew in a little closer, some kind of awful curiosity bubbling through him. He wanted to see Keith's expression.  

* * *

Keith tried hiding his expression in the darkness of the hallway, allowing the shadows to eat away at his features, obscuring the way his eyes squeezed together, the harsh twist of his mouth and the wobble of his chin. He was about two seconds away from crying, and it terrified him. He hadn't cried in front of anyone who wasn't Shiro since he killed Lance. The idea of doing now in front of Lance terrified him more than his fractured bond with Black and his guilt for Shiro combined.

So, it only made him want to cry that much more.

He was pathetic. 

He couldn't. He couldn't do this, not in front of Lance. Not when he was supposed to be the _leader_. He'd never felt so worthless of that role as he did now. He'd been afraid to give the rest of the team specific details about his time with the space pirates. When Shiro had debriefed him, Keith had strategically skipped over the part about potentially facing his mother, and the words Jone had offered him. _Jone_ —who, when Lance had finally gained control of Red, had suddenly ordered his comrades to stand down, his eyes somehow meeting Keith's through the screen as he offered a small, hard nod.  _Go,_ he seemed to say. Next minute the hanger doors had lowered and Red was shooting away. Keith was still confused. 

He was just so _confused_ , and conflicted, and afraid of everything right now. He hadn't told anyone those details...because he was doubting his own opinion. He'd been doubting himself every day since Shiro disappeared, so why now, when everything was at its worst—when _he_ was at his worst—, would Black even consider him worthy? 

He could feel it all bubbling to the surface. Rising, rising, rising. Getting nearer for Lance to see, as the other Paladin crept closer to get a better look at Keith's face.  _No._ _Don't look at me like this. I can't pretend like you can. I can't do this._

_I can't do anything._

_Don't look at me!_

But Lance's curious eyes kept coming, dangerously close to seeing the jagged holes in Keith's expression, where he would understand it completely. He'd stop joking—stop smiling. Keith didn't want that. So he did the only thing he knew how to do in this situation, just allowed his body the freedom to react as it willed. 

Oh, did it react. 

When he felt Lance's breath brush up against his hair, pushing a section of it away from his eyes, Keith twisted around and caught his reaching hand inside his own, pulling Lance in close. Lance...obviously wasn't expecting this, as he sucked in a harsh breath when Keith snapped their bodies together. He could feel the other boy pressed up against every dip and curve of his body and his other hand reached up to take Lance's chin between his fingers.

"Keith, _what are you doing_?" Lance whispered, his eyes, half bathed in shadows, were wide, lashes fanning out around the edges.

Keith tilted forwards, angling his head upwards slightly to gently touch his lips to Lance's. Just kissed; then hovered, feeling Lance's breath against his own. Kiss and hover. Kiss and hover. Repeat. He could feel the way Lance's hand trembled beneath his own and rubbed soothing circles over the back of it. "I told you, I won't make this easy," he murmured over his mouth, his lips catching on Lance's. He felt Lance's other hand rest on Keith's shoulder, preparing to push him away. To distract him from this, Keith brushed peppering kisses all over his lower lip, smoothing his thumb against his chin. Lance's hand paused. Keith's window.  

"I know why you're doing this," Lance said, his half-lidded eyes watching Keith work below him. He was dead still, lips frozen stiff beneath Keith's own. Keith wanted to work that stiffness away, ply those lips apart so they returned his kisses with some of their own.  

"I don't care." 

"You're doing it because your emotions are scaring you right now. You're trying to distract yourself." Lance's fingers dug into Keith's shoulder, pressing in between his bones and muscles. "Too bad I don't appreciate being used as a distraction."

_Don't you dare._

Lance yanked his head away, looking down at Keith with disdainful eyes, his pupils swollen, his lower lip, too. Keith didn't let go of him though, kept his hand fastened to his chin and the other wrapped around Lance's trembling one. His face was still very close, and it was easy for Keith to simply lean in again, brushing their noses together and scattering more kisses over his cheekbone. He could feel Lance's rapid heartbeat against his chest, and sighed at the way it sunk into his own body, its continuous rhythm—part of his own now.

He'd dreamt of this, had experienced it once even. But it wasn't enough, he wanted it again and again, everyday of his life. It was the only thing that didn't confuse him anymore, these feelings. They were real. "Please," he tried begging, voice cracking desperately.

"No," Lance responded, trying to lean back even further, but Keith still reached for him, knocking their noses together again as he went to press his lips to his other cheek, the one that still had bruises. Lance sighed when he focussed on that spot, hand loosening on his shoulder. 

An idea formed in Keith's head, and it had his lips curving upwards slightly against Lance's heated skin. It was an awful, cruel, idea but he was desperate enough for Lance's attention that he didn't stop himself. He'd seen the way Lance's face tightened at Allura's words earlier, seen the jealousy inside those eyes, like blue fire. Lance was lying to himself. 

So, Keith said the cruelest thing he could have possibly said in that moment, and he knew he'd regret it in the near future, knew it would come back to bite him on the ass, but, ever the slave to his own will, he said them anyway. "I could always go to Shiro," he breathed against Lance's skin, and he felt the other boy go taught beneath him, like he'd been struck by lightening.

It was a lie. Keith knew it. Lance knew it. God, the entire universe knew it.

It was cruel to Lance, _and_ to Shiro. Pitting them against each other so he could get what he wanted. 

But it didn't matter, not when Lance's hand on his shoulder instantly fastened securely around Keith's nape, unsteady, but determined, and it had Keith writhing, had his neck arching back. Soon enough, his other hand abandoned Keith's grasp to join in and Lance was spinning them around so Keith's back was pressed up against the wall, crushing his front against his own. Keith's hands hovered over his shoulders and Lance pulled his face back to look in his eyes again.

They were on fire.

"You're such an asshole. I know what you're doing," Lance panted, tilting forwards to take Keith's bottom lip in his, teasing it between his teeth. Against it he muttered various insults to Keith, each more ugly than the last. When he touched a tender kiss to Keith's chin—startlingly gentle compared to his vicious words—he seemed to come to a decision. "Fine. You started all this, it's only fair if I finish it."

Keith didn't care, he just wanted more of this. Wanted his pulse against Lance's, their breath entangled together, their warmth, and sounds, and tastes. He wanted it all. Distantly, he became aware of something hot and wet dripping down his cheeks and over Lance's nose as he took Keith for all he was worth.

And he thought with bitter humour, _All this and_ _I still couldn't stop the tears._    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Class was cancelled today so I had some time. Wooohoooo!!!!
> 
> I adore any comments left after another chapter and I'm so grateful for everyone who has hung around for so long to witness my bullshit, just *bows down to you all* love you. 
> 
> Enjoy! xoxoxoxo


	11. Thirty-One + 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro has always been torn. Lance just wants to be in control again. Lotor is evil, as usual.

When Shiro had been recruited to act as Captain and Pilot for the Garrison's mission to Kerberos he didn't even second-guess that he'd finally found his place in the universe. The moment they pinned the promotional badge upon his uniform, he felt as though everything he'd worked for was finally meeting at a crossroads; he could feel his life ambitions tying off with a neat bow as all the loose ends came together. He'd thought: _I'm complete now._

He'd visited his aunt the day he got the news to tell her of his good fortune, though, as usual, he was only greeted with a blank look and slack expression. Perhaps there was a flicker of recognition for a single second, before, as always, it slipped through the branches of her mind into nothingness.

 _"Hey, aunt Meryl," Shiro began. "I know you won't comprehend this, but I did it. I'm a Captain for the world's first mission to Kerberos," he said sadly, heart heavy as lead in his chest while he watched her eyes stray expressionlessly from his face and to something else in the room. "I just thought I owed it to you to come here, after everything you did for me _—a_ nd Keith _—_ I know you'd be proud of us both. Keith is doing well, too. I don't doubt he'll soon overtake me as 'best pilot of his generation.' I'm a little jealous." He chuckled to himself, swirling the tea one the of the carers had offered him. It was a little too milky and cold for his tastes_— _he usually took his tea black and boiling hot—but he appreciated the gesture. "If I'm honest, I am a little worried for him. It's been a year and he hasn't made a single friend. He has people drooling at the mouth for his attention, but doesn't act on it."_

_Keith. Keith Keith Keith. He was always stuck in Shiro's mind. It could spell problems when he left for Kerberos in a year. Keith was incredibly selective with who he gave his attention to, and after giving it to Shiro years ago he was reluctant to offer it to anyone else. He wouldn't admit it, but Shiro knew Keith was lonely, even now _—even with Shiro_. What would happen to him when Shiro left for months with very few time and capabilities to communicate back to Earth? Keith had a tendency to spiral downwards very quickly when things became too much. It left a curdling feeling in Shiro's gut every time he thought about it. _

_Shiro sighed heavily, eyes falling closed. Kerberos was his dream, but his heart was caught between two worlds whenever he started to think about Keith. The thought of leaving him alone with Shiro's aunt as his only connection was unbearable._

_Later that day Shiro had agreed to pick up Keith from the Garrison so they could get dinner together in celebration of Shiro's promotion. He'd left another photo of him and Keith behind for his aunt in her bedroom, joining the growing collection on the dressing mirror that he'd been obsessively covering during the past few years. When he heard the bell ring, signalling the end of class, Shiro straightened himself on the wall, where he'd been accidentally dozing off on. About a second later, Keith was barrelling out of the classroom, his teacher berating him angrily as he grabbed Shiro's forearm and dragged him away._

_Shiro should have expected this behaviour, but he would have appreciated even just a fraction of a smile as his greeting, not being pulled away like luggage._

_"Keith, your teacher is calling you," Shiro said, pulling the other boy to a stop. Behind them, he could hear the rest of the class slowly funnelling out of the room, their voices loud and adamant like teenagers always were. One of them particularly so when he called out, "Don't wait up for me, Hunky, I'll catch up in a sec." To which someone else replied, "Don't ever call me that again otherwise I'm terminating this friendship."_

_"Doesn't matter." Keith replied to Shiro, turning back to him and crossing his arms over his chest, hands linked loosely over his forearms. Hs eyes were downcast, avoiding Shiro's prying gaze. "Iverson just wanted me to stay to ask if I could consider giving a talk to hopeful pilots for next year's applicants."_

_Shiro was gobsmacked at Keith's unconcerned tone. "That's an amazing opportunity, why would you pass it up?"_

_"Because it involves talking, and other people. Talking to other people. About conviction and all that bullshit."_

_"Don't swear," Shiro berated._

_"Sorry," he mumbled, not sounding at all sorry. There was a slight blush on the top of Keith's cheeks as he continued to avoid Shiro's eyes, his mouth was a taught line across his face._

_Suddenly, there was a shy, enquiring voice behind Shiro, the same one from before, and he saw Keith visibly flinch, eyes widening. "Umm, sorry to interrupt, but ahh, Keith, man, I was wondering if I could ask—"_

_"Sorry, I don't have time. Shiro and I were just leaving," Keith interrupted, voice harsh as he grabbed at Shiro's sleeve, tugging him away again._

_Shiro saw the other boy deflate, thin shoulders dropping, though his eyes only shone with annoyance. "Right. I guess I'll just go then."_

_"Yeah," Keith responded, now fully dragging Shiro away, who was still watching the other boy slink away, his eyes turning miserable when he thought no one was looking._

_God, Keith was hopeless at times. Shiro wanted to shake him. "What the hell was that, Keith?" Shiro demanded, coming up besides the other boy as she trudged away, his face ever fiercer than before. "He was about to ask you something and you just blew him off. You could have, oh I don't know, become friends with him or something? You can't just shrug off everyone who tries to talk to you."_

_"Watch me."_

_Shiro felt his annoyance spike."You'll regret that. Someday you'll look back on your time in the Garrison and wish you'd made friends."_

_"I doubt it."_

_Shiro secured a hand over Keith's shoulder, halting him in his tracks. The boy paused, as if that touch shocked his body into stillness. "Keith. I'm not going to be here forever, you know. When I'm on Kerberos—"_

_"I'll deal with it. Shiro, I can handle a few months without you. What I can't handle is you trying to make friends for me and pushing me into things I'm not comfortable with. Just stop worrying about me and start worrying about yourself." Keith offered Shiro a small smile, eyes softening. "You're gonna need to if you want to survive all this pre-Kerberos training. You can't focus on me if you want to go to Kerberos."_

_If only it were that easy._

All his life, Shiro had convinced himself that space exploration was his place in the universe. He was a born leader, the Black Lion had proved as much to him, and nothing brought him more pride and joy as another successful mission. There was something about watching his subordinates come back grinning like fools that made his chest constrict with pride. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised he'd always been torn between his dreams and his home. He'd shoved all those feelings aside, bottled them up and threw it all away, but somehow, they always ended up washing ashore again.

He wished he'd never ended up on Earth again after their battle against Zarkon, so he wouldn't have been reminded of everything he'd longed for during his time as a Galra prisoner. He'd felt everything he'd dreamed of in those couple of weeks. He'd felt the breeze on his face, the sun against his back, the ground beneath his feet and the air in his lungs, and he'd thought, _I'm home._ Even as the voice inside his head screamed at him that Voltron was his home—that his mission was his place.    

All this was going through his head when he went to knock on Keith's door a few hours before they were due to make the drop back down to Earth. Allura had very carefully explained this all to Shiro yesterday when she'd finally tracked him down to the Cryo Pod chamber in the lower sections of the castle. Her eyes had been wary and pained as she explained everything. So, they all knew, then. He was no longer a Paladin. 

_What am I, then?_

He glanced at his Galra arm raised to knock on the door, feeling it weigh a million tons as his stomach rolled in disgust. Not Galra, but not entirely human anymore, either. 

Just before he knocked, however, he heard voices on the inside. One of them, Keith, his tone unusually lighter than usual, considering the circumstances, and the other was undoubtedly Lance, high-pitched and avidly explaining some over the top adventure of his. Shiro's arm immediately drew back to hang limply by his side. He expected to feel disgruntled from being cut off like this, however, there was only a strange sense of relief that washed through him, cool like water. Shiro had spent years trying to convince Keith to branch out, years of pushing and shoving and only receiving a disapproving glare in return.

And now he'd branched off, to Lance of all people. He'd have to warn Lance, he thought, as Keith tended to become extremely fixated on the people he cared about. It was almost obsessive, the way he hovered, and stressed, and dedicated himself to people. He'd tear himself to pieces if it came to it, if he felt it was the right thing to do. Shiro would know. 

Shiro hated to admit it, but he'd been worried. Shiro had always known about Keith's feelings for him, it was obvious from the blushes on his cheeks and his shy eyes, and Shiro had spent years concerned that Keith would never move on. Shiro couldn't give Keith what he needed. They were close, closer than anyone on this ship most likely. However, it wasn't what Keith needed. There was too much weight in their relationship, too much heaviness and reliance, and fear that one would disappoint the other.

Keith required something light in his life, someone to make him laugh, pout, bicker, and to grow with. Someone who could balance out the rest of his terribly lonely, and exhausting, life. People his own age; Pidge, Hunk and Lance. They could give him that. They made him laugh, they challenged his expectations and introduced him to new things.

It was a relief.

To know Keith finally had others to rely on now.

So, perhaps it was time for Shiro to face his own demons.

He left Keith and Lance to themselves and found himself making his way to the Black Lion's hanger. She and him weren't done yet, he had one more thing he had to ask of her.

* * *

Lance was hooked. 

Now that he'd had a taste of this there was no way in hell he could force himself out anytime soon. He blamed Keith, though he mostly blamed Keith for everything, whether or not it was his fault. It was simply amusing to blame Keith. 

Laying his hands down on the Red Lion's controls, he emptied his lungs in a deep breath that left his chest aching painfully. He breathed in again, taking in as much air as his ribs would allow. His aunt, a doctor, had told him once that if you inflated a pair of lungs outside the body they'd inflate twice the size as they would if they were inside you. It wasn't the lungs that were the limitation, but your chest—your ribs and muscles all telling your lungs that enough was enough. 

Lance decided to test that theory, breathing in as far as he could until no more room was left inside. It burned, —each time he took air in and then expelled it again—reminding him of Red funnily enough. 

His hands on the controls were completely still, not even a slight tremor remaning, and Lance felt like,  _yes, this is my place._ It was amazing, the way they just suddenly stopped, and followed Lance's commands once more, it had tears building at the corners of his eyes because when he took them off—

They were shaking again, immediately forcing reality to crash back down upon him, heavy and dark.

_I'm not in control of my own body. I can't eat without making a mess, I can't write, I can't type. God, I can't even make out properly without almost punching them in the face._

Red purred something soothing, warm, like a woollen blanket in winter, wrapping it around his mind. _It's okay, my Paladin,_ she seemed to say. _Just keep your hands on me and pretend for now. Stress will only hurt you further._

Lance lowered his hands, gripping the controls tightly, revelling in the stillness. He began taking in deep, deep breaths again, just focussing on the feeling of his hands so he could commit it to memory for later—so he could close his eyes and remember what it felt like to be in control.

Speaking of control.

"How long have you been in here?" Keith asked from behind, his voice hushed, like he knew he was interrupting something.

Leaning back in his seat, Lance closed his eyes and replied, "About an hour. How'd you even get in?" 

"I climbed through the emergency hatch." Lance could practically hear him shrug. Could picture the way his eyes would sweep to the side as his mouth pulling into a thin line, like it was no big deal.

Lance scoffed. "Of course you did."

There were soft footsteps as Keith slunk around to stand next to Lance in the pilot's seat. He could feel those storm-cloud eyes on him like two hot pokers being dragged down his face—his neck, the slope of his body and right down his legs. Lance willed himself no to squirm. He was almost more sensitive to Keith's eyes than his hands; there was something about the way he looked at things—or bodys—that spoke volumes.

"I told you that you'd be good for Red. I've never felt her so relaxed," he said, softly, the words hardly touching the air around them.

Lance peered a single eye at him. "You can still feel her? I can't feel Blue at all."

Keith had his chin resting on his thumb and forefinger, shaking his head. He wore his Paladin armour in preparation for his mission. His _red_ armour, Lance noted. "No. I just know it, somehow. I can't really explain it." 

"I—I think I understand. I can't feel Blue, or Allura, anymore but somehow, I know they're happy together. It's like when your parent, sibling, or like a close friend, knows exactly what you're feeling before you even do. It's like a sixth sense."

_"This belongs to you now," Lance said, offering Allura his bayard. "I noticed you left it in my room when you got back from your little finding Keith escapade. So, I figured I should return it to its new Paladin."_

_Allura's eyes were downcast as she stared at the bayard with a conflicted crease between her brows. Several moments later she took it inside her hand and met Lance's gaze with her own. "I never wanted to replace you. I never meant to make you feel insecure about your place on this team."_

_"Allura," he said, reaching up to grasp her upper arm. He offered her a small smile. "You never replaced me. You said so yourself, the lion's pick their pilots. She chose you, and Red chose me. That's that. Besides, now we can be Blue Lion besties."_

_"Besites?" she laughed. "I don't follow."_

_"Best friends," he supplied._

_"I thought Hunk was your best friend?"_

_Still feeling utterly in love with all things female Lance couldn't help himself as more laughs bubbled up from within him and he pulled in Allura for a hug, mindful of the tube hanging from him as he slipped his arms around her shoulders and buried his face in her neck. In front of him Blue towered over the two of them. He could have sworn the lion winked at him when a spark of light flickered over one of her eyes._

_"I'm glad it was you," he murmured to Allura, feeling her hands squeeze his shoulders. "Out of everyone in the universe, she chose you, and I'll be forever grateful for that; the two of you will be amazing together. Just, just try not to die so you can avoid any strangely insulting conversations with a guy named Blaytz."_

_"Oh, dear," he heard her chuckle. "You poor soul."_

"I suppose," Keith answered, snapping Lance out his memory. Then Keith was crouching down to inspect Lance's arm, picking at his sleeve. "I see you graduated from a drip to one of those Altean patches instead," he commented, pulling up Lance's sleeve to poke around the area with curious fingers. The action was strange on Keith, this new fondness he had for casual touch.

He was having trouble getting used to this Keith just brushing a hand over his wrist or his obsession with ironing out the creases in Lance's clothes with his fingers. It was just _weird._ Good weird (or bad?), but still, weird.   

"Yeah," Lance answered, watching Keith's fingers. "Coran decided I was well enough just before I came here. And I've finally stopped puking my guts out so I get to abandon the purple food goo. Thank God. Honestly I was considering going on a hunger strike so all of you would stop forcing that stuff down my throat. I understand why Coran took so long to give it to me." 

"So you _are_ feeling better?" Keith asked in a low voice, eyes catching Lance's when he looked up. 

Lance nodded. "Much. I guess they were right, midnight training was a bad idea. I'm sorry I asked that from you." 

"It's fine. I should have known better." Lance could hear the beginnings of regret inside his voice.  _Nope._

"Okay, I can see this very quickly turning down the blame game path again, so I'm gonna put a lid on it here. Let's see," Lance lifted one hand away from the controls, the one Keith had been inspecting, to tap a finger against his lower lip. "Oh. Question: why are you still in the red getup? Is Shiro still mad?" 

Keith's eyes fell to the floor and he shook his head. "No. I don't want to wear Shiro's armour. It's his, and I'm not him. I'll never be  _him."_ Keith's voice held a level of remorse Lance had come to recognise as him feeling worthless of the things given to him. It was so opposite of Lance's experience. Lance had always felt overlooked, like he tried twice as hard as everyone else and only received half the benefits. Keith, alternatively, felt as though he didn't deserve anything people gave him, like he'd done nothing to earn it. "What about you? You haven't asked for my armour." 

Lance shrugged and lowered his hand, which Keith caught between his own, threading their fingers together. Lance's heart backflipped. "Blue was my lion. I still feel connected to her, even if we aren't a team anymore, and if I can't fly her I may as well bear her colours. I was proud to be her Paladin."

"And Allura?" Keith asked, closing his eyes while he brought Lance's hand to his face, leaning against it. Lance could feel the tickle of his hair against his knuckles and his gentle breaths, warm and steady. The beat calmed Lance, sort of. 

"Pink is the colour of mourning on Altea. She's gonna keep wearing it to remember the old Paladins. Did you know her father was Red's first Paladin? Crazy right? I'm literally sitting in the same place a king sat ten-thousand years ago. Do you think he secretly farted in this chair? Wait, oh man, you're wearing his armour, that's even worse. I hope it was washed between you and him because otherwise you're sitting in a ten-thousand-year-old fart." Lance was rambling now, his words tumbling over each other as he felt Keith press his lips to his knuckles, holding his hand carefully between his. Lance's breath stuttered in his throat and he suddenly felt too hot in his jacket. 

His mind was a mess. 

 _Please stop,_  he begged.But also.  _Don't let go._

"Lance," Keith whispered onto his skin, warm and damp. "What are you doing here? You're staying in the castle, remember?"

Lance's other hand tightened on his controls, squeezing hard to the point where he felt his nails digging into his palm. He considered avoiding the question, but Keith's lips on his skin somehow robbed him of his ability to think creatively. "I just wanted to feel in control again," he admitted to Keith quietly. "Whenever I'm with Red, I can pretend my hands are my own. I just want to pretend like there's nothing wrong with me." 

"There _is_ nothing wrong with you, Lance." Keith's mouth was slowly trailing all over his hand, touching every part of it, even as it shook violently inside his grasp. "Red chose you for a reason. She chose _you;_  all of you, your hands too. You're not limited by one part of yourself." His mouth said this as it pressed against his thumb, then he lowered Lance's hand, reluctantly, and set it back on his controls. Lance sighed as it returned to its familiar stillness. "I need to go soon, but I came here to give you this," he said as he lowered his hand towards his thigh. 

A flash of light and his bayard blinked into existence. Lance watched him with wary eyes as he offered it to him. He'd have to take his hand off the controls again and feel its patheticness all over again. He didn't want to feel it. _Just let me pretend a little longer._

But Keith was watching him with wide, hopeful eyes, and it was truly compelling. Lance could still see the slight scarring left behind from where his nails had opened up Keith's skin, and the burn mark that sliced down the left side. They were all faded—these marks that never failed to remind Lance of things he'd rather forget. He could still remember the sensation of Keith's skin tearing under his fingers, the smell of his blood between his nails when he'd finally had a chance to properly wash his hands. Lance had spent hours cleaning his hands that night, just scrubbing over and over again, using a pin to clean every inch of blood from beneath his nails. Even now, he still washed his hands for a solid three minutes more than he used to.

Lance's hand rose and grasped the bayard shakily and he offered a smile to Keith. "I'll take care of her."

"And she'll do the same for you."

"And we'll have _so_ much more fun together," Lance teased, lips quirking up into a smirk. It encouraged a grin of Keith's own, devilish and playful. When he leaned forwards to graze his lips carefully over his, Lance responded automatically, without thought, returning the gesture and tilting his head comfortably to the side. God, he didn't know what he was doing. It had been three days since that incident in the hallway and Lance couldn't seem to catch hold of his common sense anymore. He never started anything, but whenever Keith offered, he was too weak to say no. Every time he tried to deny Keith he'd think of those words,  _"I could always go to Shiro,"_ and some possessive urge came over him, it would make his stomach cramp with anger and force his hands to take Keith inside them and give him whatever he wanted.  

It was like he'd broken the seal, and he just kept slipping, hands sliding uselessly down the walls as he tumbled down into whatever this was. 

There was a buzzing sound from somewhere in the cockpit and Lance heard Allura's voice calling Keith's name. Jerking his head away and looking down, he realised it was coming from Keith's helmet on the ground. "You should probably answer that," he said as he felt Keith's mouth at the corner of his. One of his hands had come up to touch Lance's cheek gently under his fingertips. 

"Probably." Keith didn't move to do so. 

"They'll leave without you." 

"Doesn't sound too bad to me." 

"You'll change your mind when you receive the scolding of a lifetime from Allura," Lance warned.

"I'm going, I'm _going_ ," Keith immediately responded, his voice going sharp with dread. Rising to his feet, he retrieved his helmet and pressed one last lingering kiss to Lance's mouth. He felt it stick, warm and soft, then tear away slowly as Keith drew himself upwards and he brushed a hand along Lance's cheek absently. He did that a lot, Lance noticed, whenever they had to seperate to do their own things, he'd ghost it across the cheek he'd half caved in all that time ago, as though he just needed that one more touch before he left. It had Lance so utterly confused. Keith wasn't like that, he wasn't affectionate, didn't seek out touch like that. Yet here he was, just touching Lance whenever he got the chance.

"Good call," Lance grinned up at Keith. "If you stay on her good side you might get to use her special Princess skin lotion. I would know." 

"Wow, my dream come true. Because you know I'm _all about_ skin care," Keith scoffed. His hand was still hanging in the air, like he wanted to reach for him again, but Lance pushed it back to his side, gesturing for him to go.

"I wouldn't waste any more time. She has a timeliness thing, remember? Get your ass in that pilot's seat." Keith's face contorted suddenly, something panicked sparking inside his eyes like lightening. Lance frowned. "What's wrong?"

"The Black Lion..." Keith slipped off, mouth pulling taught as he sucked his lips in between his teeth.

"She'll be fine. All you have to do is fly her, there shouldn't be any combat involved. You just have to look cool for the camera," Lance assured.

"What if I can't fly her?"

"You can."

"But what if I _can't_?" 

"Keith. You're the best pilot I've ever met. Trust me, you can do this. You're not Shiro, true. You're _Keith._ Don't focus on what Shiro would do, just do what you would."

"I can't lead them," Keith shook his head, dark hair flying all over the place. It was even messier than usual at the moment, sticking up at all ends, as though he spent all night tossing in his bed. Maybe he did. 

"Then don't."

Keith's head whipped towards Lance, eyes uncomprehending. " _What?_ " 

"Drive them, push them forwards, inspire them by doing what you _can_ do. Just _fly_. The rest will work itself out. Allura and Shiro will both be there, they'll help you." Lance drilled his words in, making sure each one of them hit its mark as he watched Keith's face slowly transform into something more recognisable. His face narrowing into that familiar one of determination and his expression filled up with fire, and something else, a kind of crackling energy that Lance sometimes saw in Shiro when he gave his orders. "Trust yourself," he finished with.  

Keith nodded resolutely. "Right."

When Keith finally left, Lance felt guilt seep back into his skin, through all the cracks and pores—he felt it like poison. It had been five days since he'd picked Keith up from that pirate ship, and he still hadn't told him about Acxa, and what she might be to him. But looking at Keith's face lately was like looking at a slowly shattering mirror. Every day there was another crack or two as something new and terrible piled itself up high on his shoulders. If Lance told him about Acxa, it would be like taking a hammer to that mirror, he'd shatter to bits, especially since he already had that close call with his potential mother. Lance wondered why Keith hadn't told anyone else about that.

Lance took in another deep breath, allowing it to burn deep inside him as he tried to erase any thoughts about Keith, but he found, when he emptied his lungs again, that the only thing he could think of was those stormy eyes and the way they burned, hot and alive.

 _I'm finished,_ he thought helplessly. 

R.I.P. 

_Rest In fucking Pieces._

* * *

When Lotor contacted each of his Generals to ensure they had completed their tasks, he was not disappointed. Narti had the Green Paladin's father en-route to the required location and Ezor had secured the Yellow Paladin's mother and had converged with Zethrid, who'd graciously stolen another fighter jet from the Galra ship when Narti broke into its prison. Things were all going well. And Lotor, he'd been served up endless home cooked dishes and just honestly been given the greatest hospitality he had ever experienced in his life. He was almost regretful for having to end it all so soon. 

He knew now why dear Blue had the most dazzling smile. He'd inherited his mother's laughing eyes, his father's broad grin and his grandmother's dimpled cheeks. Been graced with many, many years of love and support, and it showed. In all those photos on the mantlepiece and in the light of his mother's eyes when he looked at Lotor wearing her son's face. Dear Blue truly was very spoilt—spoilt with love. It left Lotor oddly jealous.

Which was why he now held the knife he'd concealed the last few pleasant days up to dear Blue's sibling's throat. Isabelle, her name was. She had darker skin, just like dear Blue, and the same brown hair. They could have been twins. He'd been sitting in her room listening to her ramble about things he had no interest in when she suddenly went to grab Lotor's hand, only to find it was missing and she'd looked up at him with horrified eyes, the same colour blue as the Paladin.

Surprised, he'd thought, _this one will have to do,_ and sprung to fasten his hand over her mouth and pressed her back harshly against the headboard of her bed, her scream swallowed up by his palm. At least it meant he could finally drop his disguise, which had been draining and exhausting energy reserves dangerously low over the last few days. He'd enjoyed the way her eyes had bulged with fear as he shifted back to his own form, sighing in relief as he felt everything move back to where it should be. It was like taking off a pair of too tight shoes.  

As he held the knife to her throat now, he whispered, "I need to make a very important call, so I'm going to let go of your mouth. If you scream, this knife I hold might accidentally slip a little too far. So, I'm trusting you to be quiet. Be a good girl and leave the rest of your family out of this. Do you understand?" She nodded, blinking away tears, which fell hot against his hand. "Good." 

He lifted his hand away, watching her face closely as she slammed her mouth shut, lips trembling with fear, but otherwise still. Very good girl indeed. Fetching out his communicator he pressed the button in the centre and Narti's face appeared in a projection, Kova pressing his side up affectionally against her neck. 

"Our plans have accelerated after a small slip up that will work to our advantage," he hummed, the knee he had pressed against the girl's stomach digging in a fraction, causing her to whimper. Her throat bobbed against the knife. "Make the call." 

* * *

When Pidge picked up an incoming signal on her lion's communicatiors, she rose a quizzical brow. It wasn't any of the other Paladins, of that she was sure. This was kind of like a phone call, making a continuous thrill-like noise as it waited for her to respond. On her screens, a red symbol was flashing in front of her, which meant this call was coming from an unknown source. Unease shot through her as her hand hovered over the accept symbol.

Perhaps she should consult with one of her teammates?

But she already knew what they would say. They'd say the same thing as her mother always did.

_"Never accept calls from a private number. Not unless they leave a message so you know who it is," she warned, handing Pidge her first mobile phone. A thrilling new development in her life. "You never know what nasty surprise might be on the other side."_

Pidge knew there was proper sense in it, but she was fifteen, a Paladin, and filled with endless curiosity, which was possibly her greatest strength, and worst downfall. If Lance were with them she might have asked for his advice first as he had a way of not making her feel inferior about things like this. But he was on the other side of a wormhole while she was passing Jupiter on course to Earth. 

She accepted the call, feeling something heavy inside her chest.

That heaviness dropped like a stone inside her when a face appeared her screens and it had her flinching back in her seat, breath caught halfway up her throat. She heard the blood rushing inside her ears and felt her heart gallop painfully beneath her ribs as complete and utter panic took hold of her.

_Oh God. No._

" _Dad_?" she croaked, feeling her face collapse.

Her father's face was gaunt and pale, and he was suffering from a particularly nasty wound on the side of his forehead which had crusted over with old blood. He had no glasses, and his eyes were dull and miserable, but it was him. _Her father._

Belatedly, he seemed to realise what he was looking at, and his eyes widened, expression turning into one of utter panic as he seemingly leant forwards to struggle against invisible restraints. "Katie!" he cried. "Katie turn this off right now! Turn it _off_!"

"Nope, we're having none of that," another, familiar, slimy voice interrupted, and it had Pidge swallowing in fear. She should contact the other Paladins. She should—

"Hello, Green Paladin, I don't believe we've properly met." Katie met her father's eyes on the screen. He was shaking his head, begging with every ounce of his strength for her to disconnect them. But her hands didn't move. She was hooked to her father's face. It was the first time she'd seen it in over a year, she couldn't just abandon it. "My General here seems to have had a run in with your father. What a coincidence, right?"

She shouldn't grovel—should think like a Paladin, like the _Green_ Paladin. Figure out the best, most decisive, way around this awful new circumstance. She needed to think about this objectively. But that was her father, her family, and grovel was the only thing she could think of doing right now as her hands began to shake fiercely on her controls.  

" _Please,"_ she pleaded to the invisible voice, Lotor's voice. "Don't hurt him. Whatever you want from me—"

"Oh, no no no no no. Don't be mistaken, little Green, this isn't a bargain, this is judgement," Lotor interrupted, and Pidge saw her father shaking his head as his eyes tracked something behind the camera.    

"Judgement?" she asked dumbly, swallowing the lump in her throat. It didn't budge. Something was ringing inside her ears and there was a tingling in her hands.  

"For thinking you could possible defeat me—as if it would be that easy. You know nothing of the Galra. But you will." 

There was the sound of something being drawn off camera, a click, and then her father was shouting at her, his eyes bulging with unfiltered fear—frenzied with it. 

"Turn it off, Katie! Turn it off NOW!" he screamed— _screamed—_ the sound so hideous, and sickening, and frightening, and nothing like him, that it startled Pidge more than the sound of the crossbow being released and the sight of the arrow plunging into her father's chest with a sick, and final, thud. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> It's 1:16am bye
> 
> Be prepared for errors. Lots.


	12. Thirty-One + 18: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axca makes first contact finally, but everything she believed is flipped upside down after what she witnessed. Keith is trying, Black is having none of it. Something precious is broken.

When Acxa's pod miraculously crossed paths with Narti on her way escaping from a Galra battle cruiser, she'd never felt relief so strongly as she did then. Her pod had been practically running on fumes at that point and she'd been resorting to freeze dried Altean food for five days. Which was _not_ pleasant, to to put it kindly. She'd taken a beating from the pirates when her weapons system had malfunctioned on her, leaving her air supply severely decimated, which she knew no doubt had to do with the Blue Paladin's fiddling fingers before he'd shamelessly abandoned her and gone after his comrade.       

She had no one but herself to blame for that ugly turn of events, she'd allowed his good humour to reel her in and trick her into trusting him. It had been familiar, and human, so startlingly pleasant that she'd gone along with it, settled back into its rhythm like she'd never left. Acxa would be lying to herself if she said that she didn't feel even a little bit heartbroken when he given her those final words.

_"I hope you rot in hell."_

Had she betrayed her own race in joining Lotor?

_You tried to kill one of them, of course you have. You're a Galra, you belong with them, with Lotor. Humans are nothing to you now. Forget about that side of you._

She'd tried. Oh, she'd tried for years to pretend that being Galra was the only thing that mattered. Impressing Lotor was all that mattered.

_Forget those human scum who kicked you out the moment your skin began to change, they don't deserve a second of your time._

The voice inside her mind had told her those things for years now, ever since she found herself homeless and forever labelled a monster by her own family.  

_But why did talking to the Blue Paladin feel so...right?_

These questions swirled chaotically inside her mind as Acxa pulled herself aboard Narti's fighter using one of the flight suits inside the pod. When she slipped through the door into the pilot's cockpit she'd been shocked, and absolutely _horrified_ , to see the other woman releasing an arrow into a human man's chest, straight to the heart. Kova, on her shoulder, hissed with delight as the man's form jolted from the impact, eyes going wide as he stared down to the arrow protruding from his chest with incomprehension, as if this new thing inside him was simply confusing. Then his entire body canted forwards as his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. Before he could crash into the ground, however, the chains hooking his hands to the wall behind halted him, leaving him suspected at an angle, his head dropping lifelessly between his shoulders.

On the other side of the projection Acxa heard the sound of someone young screaming her lungs raw with absolute anguish. Begging, _"Dad! DAD! PLEASE! NO. No no no nonononono no NO!"_

It was the same way the Red Paladin had screamed for his comrade—for Lance—when he'd died, and it still hit Acxa with the same awful force as it did back then. The _pain_ inside that voice—there were no words to possibly describe it. She could hear the faint drip of blood against the floor when Acxa turned confused and devastated eyes towards Narti. 

"What have you done, Narti?" she squeezed out between stiff lips. She felt ice cold. "Why are we murdering innocent people now? What the  _fuck_ are we doing?" 

As usual, Narti didn't respond, but Kova did hiss on her shoulder, the fur on his back spiking up in his agitation. Acxa felt something overwhelming swell inside her body, pressing her organs to the outside and making her skin feel too tight. Holding a hand to her head she stepped backwards, away from the human body, his upper body suspended atrociously in the air. She could still hear the girl on the other side sobbing and pleading for her father. 

Somehow, despite her hand not being the one to pull the trigger, Acxa still felt the blood on her hands, dripping down her wrists and elbows—covering her entire body, where her skin absorbed it just like the desert had absorbed her own blood. Since when were they all murderers? Lotor...Lotor, he promised them—promised Acxa—that there would be no blood on their hands. Had she been a fool to believe him?

She thought back to Lance, his narrow eyes probing her face as he asked,  _"Why didn't he press it?"_

Why _hadn't_ Lotor pressed that button?

Why was it that Lotor got to keep his hands clean while the rest of them spilled all this innocent blood for him?

* * *

When Keith had first flown Red his heart had beat frantically inside his chest with nervousness and anticipation, feeling her fire burn fiercely inside him for the very first time. He'd been anxious as this new and powerful thing suddenly came to life inside him, but he'd never been afraid of her. He'd trusted her from the very beginning. 

The same could not be said as he sat in the pilot's seat of the Black Lion. His hands were clenched tight and shaking around his controls as he felt her hiss beneath him. He felt as though this new energy within him would eat him alive, as it crackled and sizzled inside his veins, scorching the inside of his skin. Not even Shiro's hand upon his shoulder was helping him with this awful fear that clenched harshly around his body.

He'd been surprised when Black had instantly activated as he first laid his hands on the controls, and had felt a brief, fleeting sense of hope that perhaps their bond wasn't fractured after all. But his hopes had been dashed when she'd soared out of her hanger before he'd given the command. The roar that broke free from her jaws felt angry and full of wrath. And she hadn't settled down since the four of them had flown through the wormhole Allura had (somehow?) opened and started on course back to Earth.

She tugged and slipped free from his control, veering off course so many times that the rest of the team had taken to surrounding him so they could knock her back into place. Hunk had mumbled about how this would look awful on the cameras, which had only served to batter Keith's fear and humiliation even further. At one point Black had even shut down for a solid ten minutes before starting back up again with a snap of her head, sending Keith into the back of his chair with a painful thud.  

The one thing Shiro's hand on his shoulder _was_ good for was stopping Keith from giving up in frustration. Every time Keith groaned with annoyance as he came up against another brick wall when he tried to meld his mind with the lion, Shiro squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and murmured encouraging words to him. The two of them still hadn't talked about what happened the other day and it was putting extra strain on Keith's already frayed nerves as he felt Shiro grasping for words behind him. Keith could hear the way he chose them carefully, testing Keith's reaction to them as if he wasn't quite sure they were the right ones. 

"Try thinking of something that calms you," Shiro instructed stiffly, and Keith could feel his eyes on him. It made the back of his neck prickle. "Just let your mind loosen before you try and meld it with hers."

"Easier said than done," Keith muttered unhelpfully.

"Just try it," Shiro snapped. The older man had been generally adept in holding his temper together since Black rejected him, but it had continually showed its face more and more since Keith had been chosen. Keith knew Shiro didn't mean it, knew he was only confused and devastated and trying his best to work through having his entire universe flipped on its head. However, it still made him feel small whenever he heard the Paladin's voice sharpen. "I'm sorry," Shiro added, softly. "I didn't mean to snap at you, I—I'm just trying to help."

Keith's breath inside his helmet was becoming too hot and stuffy, so he clicked the button to release the visor from the lower half of his face, sighing as cool air filtered through his lungs. "I know, and I'm trying, it's just—it's so fucking hard, Shiro. I don't know if I can—"

"You're overthinking it. Try what I said, don't force your way in to her head, but open yours instead. Think of something that helps you relax." Shiro's tone was encouraging, gentle and unbearably kind.

"Right," Keith responded, nodding his head and closing his eyes.

 _Something relaxing, something relaxing, something relaxing,_ Keith repeated inside his head, concentrating on narrowing down his memories into a single thing he could focus all his attention on.    

And of course, the one thing that it always came back to was the sensation of Lance's heartbeat under his mouth when he traced the narrow rivers of the veins beneath his skin longingly the other day inside his room. Chasing that pulse of his like his life depended on it. It was without a doubt the most calming sensation he'd ever experienced in his life. He'd followed it all the way from the crook of Lance's neck—always from that faithful place where the capsule had been—and down to the hollow of his throat and over the arc of his collarbones until he drew a single, warm line to his fingertips. He'd paused on the inside of his wrist and traced the swollen, warm veins with his tongue. It throbbed against his mouth, warm and comforting. That, of course, prompted Lance to squawk indignantly, shoving Keith away with his hand, squashing his nose painfully against his palm.

 _"That's fucking weird, you_   _know?" Lance shrilled, wiping his wrist on his pants. Keith, sitting over Lance's hips, huffed with irritation and snapped his hand out to catch Lance's wrist again, but the other boy yelped and threw it behind his head. He used his other hand to keep Keith at bay with three fingers pressed to his chest, leaving Keith tilted over top of Lance as he stretched out for that escaping hand._

_"It's not that weird. C'mon give it back," Keith grumbled._

_Lance grinned doubtfully at him, one eyebrow quirked upwards. "I'm worried about what your definition of the term 'weird' is," he laughed._

_Keith sucked in a breath when he felt it vibrate between his thighs. That felt strange, but he wasn't necessarily against feeling it again._

_"My definitions are just fine," Keith argued, finally giving up his struggle to lean back onto his hands, splayed on either side of Lance's hips. Lance's legs were pulled up behind him, and Keith could lean back against them like a kind of backrest. From that position he watched Lance draw his hand back to himself, holding it carefully inside his other one on his stomach, being mindful of the tube still hanging from his arm. Keith could see the effort he put into trying to keep his hands as still as possible, saw it in the way his arm muscles clenched down tight on the convulsions, as if they were trying to smother them._

_"Stop looking at my dick," Lance said, lips puckered into a pout. His eyes were two thin slits as he stared back at Keith with disinterest._

_"I wasn't!"_

_Lance pointed to Keith's eyes with an accusing finger and then drew a line from there down towards his other hand sitting on his stomach. When he looked back up at Lance's smirking face he growled, "I was looking at your hands. **Your hands.** Besides, I can't even see it from here because I'm—" he cut himself off with a cough, choking on the words like poison. _

_But the damage had already been done. And Lance never missed a thing, he snapped everything up first chance he got._

_"That's what she said," Lance crooned smoothly, tilting himself forwards as he pushed himself up with his hands, his lashes fluttering against his cheekbones. Keith suddenly felt the urge to bite those cheekbones as annoyance tickled his previously good mood. Lance said things like that a lot, and it made him feel all wound up inside. He supposed he deserved it after what he'd said to Lance yesterday, but it didn't stop him from suddenly swooping back down on him and covering that mouth with his own just before he said anything more._

_A finger raised like he was about to make a very important point, Lance groaned and fell back onto Keith's pillow, his words swallowed up between their mouths._

_Kissing Lance was nice. Feeling Lance was nice. Being with him was nice. It was simple, and easy, and fun, and exciting. Good. It was just good._

_Lance made Keith feel good._

_Why had it taken him so many lonely years to realise this?_

Keith allowed his mind to cling to those sensations, felt the memory of them brush up against him and loosen his stiff joints—his twitching muscles and frenzied heart. He imagined the sound of Lance's voice reassuring him, the way he laughed at his own jokes, and those pleased noises he makes when Keith kissed him just _right._  Just his voice in general, it flooded through him like cool water over a desert floor.He thought of Hunk and Pidge, too, thought of the three of them, and Keith, spending time together like—

—Like friends. Not just comrades. 

 _Family_.

Keith understood what Shiro meant all that time ago now. _"You'll regret that. Someday you'll look back on your time in the Garrison and wish you'd made friends."_

He wanted it now. He wanted this friendship. He wanted Pidge to joke with him like she did with Lance, wanted Hunk to feel as comfortable as he did around Pidge, and he wanted Lance to look at him without the sliver of doubt that still lingered inside those navy-blue eyes. Just a flicker of darkness that still dawdled whenever he looked at Keith too long. He wanted Lance to be as certain about this as he was, but Keith couldn't wait until Voltron was over, like Lance wanted him to.  _  
_

Keith knew what he wanted. 

His hands stopped their shaking, and for a moment he felt Black still her own mind. Both of them paused—each on one side of this great chasm between them—and considered each other. Keith opened his mind, allowed it to bloom like a flower, and he whispered, "Please." He sensed Black's interest, feeling it perk up as he offered himself to her, allowing his mind to be soothed by these memories. Shiro was inside some as well—his kind eyes and gentle hands, even that Glara one of his. " _Please_ ," he tried again, and he felt something brush over him and thought,  _I can do this—_

Mere moments later, however, he felt Black flinch back with a wretched cry as something distracted her. He shouted out in panic as he was slammed back into reality again, eyes flying open with a broken gasp. It burned deep in his chest. He could feel sweat beading over his upper lip and heard Shiro's worried, commanding voice as he talked frantically to someone over the comms. He heard a name at the same time he saw the colour green fork like lightning behind his eyes and pain exploded in his heart. His hand flew to his chest, clutching it between his fist as he grit his teeth against the pain. Beside him, Shiro was panicking, his hand on Keith's shoulder gripping hard and his voice raising.

Still reeling from being thrown out of Black's mind, Keith forced himself to ask, "What just happened? Shiro what's going on? My chest—" he broke off with a ragged cough. 

Shiro's eyes caught his and Keith swallowed fearfully against the sticky lump in his throat. "Something bad has happened to Pidge," he responded, voice sparse and frazzled.

Keith could feel panic turning his body numb. " _What_? Is she hurt? The Galra?"

"No, she's physically fine. But her lion is going insane. She just took off suddenly, faster than Red, straight for Earth, and isn't responding to her comm. Whatever you're feeling now, it's Pidge. I can't—I can't feel it, not anymore. Allura and Hunk are freaking out though. They can't figure out what it means." Shiro crouched besides Keith then, leaning in to meet Keith's gaze directly. "Keith, I need you to tell me exactly what you feel. Describe it." 

His mouth gaped for a moment while he tried to find the words for what he just felt. Shiro waited patiently for him to find them. Eventually: "It felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest. Like I just lost something irreplaceable."

Shiro's sturdy expression faltered, but he blinked away his uncertainty and contorted his face back into one of resoluteness. But instead of giving Keith and the others his orders like he usually would, he said, "This is your call, Keith. Would do we do?"

_Please, no. Don't ask me that. I don't know what we should do._

Something dangerous growled inside his mind, and it had Keith cowering away into himself, like he used to when he felt too many eyes on him back in the Garrison. He felt his fight or flight instincts begin to kick in, and panicked. There was a noose around his throat and a pair of hands behind him pulling it tight around his throat. He couldn't breathe. 

_I can't. Shiro I can't. I—_

Another voice broke into his mind, shattering all the previous thoughts he'd been having into pieces.

_"Then don't," Lance said with certainty, his eyes like steel. "Drive them, push them forwards, inspire them by doing what you **can** do. Just fly."_

Fight or flight?

Keith had always thought he needed to choose between the two, as if they were seperate things. But with Lance's words ringing soothingly inside his head, he thought,  _maybe that isn't true._

He met Shiro's expectant gaze with his own, allowing Lance's words to fuel him. "We fly. We go after our family." 

Shiro smiled approvingly and nodded. 

It was hilarious, Keith thought with bitter humour, how Voltron couldn't even make it through one mission without something terrible happening to at least one of them. 

* * *

When Lance had collapsed to his knees suddenly beside Coran, the older man had cried out and caught the boy by the shoulders just before he smacked painfully into the floor below him. He'd guided Lance's head onto his shoulder as he sunk down and held the boy tightly between his arms, feeling his wiry body shiver and his gasping breaths force themselves out painfully fast against his collarbone. Lance was whimpering tiny, alarming noises into Coran's shoulder. 

There was a broken roar from somewhere in the castle.  _The Red Lion._  

Smoothing a hand through his brown hair, like he'd once done for his own children, Coran murmured, as calmly as he could, "Shhh, dear boy. What is it? What's happened?"

Lance's unsteady hands clung desperately to Coran's clothes, almost ripping the material with the strength he pressed with. Then one of them moved to grasp his chest, fingers digging into his own skin through his clothes painfully hard. Coran couldn't see his eyes, but he could feel the wet drops that slipped against his neck and between the collar of his uniform.

"Pigeon," Lance gasped, his voice torn up into shreds. "She's in pain. Her heart's been broken."

* * *

Allura slammed herself hard back into her seat when she felt something plunge through her heart, frozen and jagged, ripping a scream out between her lips. She felt Blue inside her roar with her own agony. Tugging off her helmet with shaking hands, Allura threw it hard against the floor as waves of pain shattered her body into pieces. She coughed and gagged against it, her hand clutching at her chest with desperate fingers.

One word escape her.

" _Pidge._ " 

* * *

Hunk slipped out of his seat and collapsed onto his side against the freezing-cold floor, hand at his chest, as if he could guard his heart against the onslaught of pain—like lighting splitting him open down the middle. He felt Yellow vibrate beneath him as he let out a terrible cry of anguish, matching that of Hunk's as he gasped out a word, feeling it break to pieces inside his mouth. 

" _Katie._ "  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belong to Dreamworks. 
> 
> I'm so hyped because I'm getting my first Sunday off work since April and I'm gonna go to brunch and just be adorable and joyful so I squeezed this out after work today bc happiness. Half the time there were screaming ten year olds in the room next to me and I just. They're so loud wtf. 
> 
> Enjoy! You're all amazing. Keep any comments and feedback coming bc it always drives me to writer harder, and better.


	13. Thirty-One + 18: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marie Holt reflects. Coran makes a choice and none of the team is happy, apart from Lance. Pidge, well...suffer she does.

When Marie Holt unlocked the door to her home that afternoon, she was once again struck by the crippling sense of grief and loneliness as no one greeted her at the threshold. Usually when she returned home from food shopping there were two sets of golden eyes waiting for her eagerly by the front door, noses squished up against the glass as they tried to make out the contents inside the bags with curious expressions. They's always been curious children, scarily intelligent at times, even. During these times Marie could hardly make it to the kitchen without at least one of them sticking their hand inside her bags to pull out something of interest.

Of course, that changed when Matt moved out to live in his shared apartment with Takashi in Nevada, closer and infinitely more convenient for them to get to and from the Garrison in preparation for their mission to Kerberos. Her husband, Sam, had also temporarily relocated from their home in Portland to a small rental in the same area as Matt and Takashi, leaving Marie and Katie alone for most of that year leading up to their mission.

And the year after that, too, when her husband and son both went missing, presumed dead due to pilot error. _Takashi's_ error. 

Marie's life has collapsed ever since that day: November 22nd, 2025. Worst of all, was watching Katie unravel before her eyes. While Marie barely refused to leave her room, feeling as though her heart would crumple whenever she approached the threshold, her daughter became angry, fierce and unsympathetic to everyone around her, including Marie. _"Until they deliver us their dead bodies to our front door, I'm not buying it,"_ she would snarl, face hard as stone while they sat at the dinner table, the two empty seats like a massive rift between Marie and her daughter. Unlike Marie, Katie refused to give into grief, instead she became fuelled by her own denial and anger which consequently led her into illegally breaking into private Garrison property. Marie had been too wrapped up in her own grief to even know what to do with Katie as she spiralled further and further down this dangerous path of hers.  

Then one day, she came out of the bathroom with her hair less than half the length bearing the nametag Pidge Gunderson, and Marie had thought, _I've lost my only daughter now, too, because I wasn't there for her like she needed._

And then, all too soon, Katie disappeared one day, too, leaving Marie truly alone, but she'd already done that to herself all on her own. Allowed Katie to get caught up inside her own head and enrol herself into the Garrison under a different name. Marie knew exactly what her daughter was up to, but she didn't stop it, didn't know how to when Katie looked at her with eyes that burned like twin fires. It made her afraid of her own daughter. So she retreated, and left Katie to fend for herself; she was stronger than Marie anyway.  

Marie regretted not being there for her. 

So, now no one greeted her at the door. There were no prying hands and petty sibling arguments. No rueful grins from her husband as they watched their children chase each other down the hall towards their rooms. All she was greeted with now was silence—awful, cold, lonely _silence_. It was almost louder and more terrifying than actual noise. It rang inside her ears at night while she tried to sleep, it flooded her senses when she turned off the television, it ate away at her sanity over time. She shook against the silence now, feeling ill.

Her husband and son deceased due to pilot error. Her daughter deceased due to _pilot error._

Takashi Shirogane and Lance McClain.

Marie knew and adored both those boys, and then they took everything she had from her. She still recalled the phone call she'd had with Lance's mother the week after Katie was pronounced dead.

_"Marie, I know what the report said, but my son would never break the rules like that. Neither would Katie or Hunk. You know that. My son isn't responsible for this, they're lying" pleaded Rosemarie, her voice raw, ragged._

_It only made Marie angry. "Lance was never supposed to be a fighter pilot. We both know he wasn't qualified for it, and now we know why, don't we? He's always been irresponsible and careless," she hissed viciously, hearing the other woman gasp over the phone. So, she dug the knife in deeper, wanting Rosemarie to hurt just as much as she did._ _"I don't care what you say, your son will always be a murderer in my eyes."_

It was the worst thing she could ever say, and in doing so she'd cut off the only friends she'd had left, Hunk's mother, Phillipa, siding instantly with Rosemarie. Marie was her own worst enemy.

When she dumped the contents of her bags lifelessly onto the kitchen bench she couldn't bring herself to put any of the items away, and simply sunk to the ground, her back sliding against the kitchen cupboards. She held her hand to her forehead and took in three deep breaths, but it didn't slow the rapid beat of her heart against her ribs. She hated herself. What was the point when her entire family was gone?

What was the point of  _groceries_ when there were no children to pester her with their curious hands. 

After half an hour curled up against the frozen kitchen floor, she became aware of a strange smell filtering inside her nose. It smelled coppery and sharp, and had her pulling herself miserably to her feet. It was coming from down the hall, where all their bedrooms were. She bit back her annoyance. Marie had been awful at keeping up with any housework lately, and smells like this weren't uncommon anymore. Grief made her lazy. As Marie made her way down the hall she could discern that it was definitely coming from her room. It was strong now, clogging up her nostrils and suffocating her. It made her want to throw up. 

When she opened the door to peer inside, she realised why.

There on her bed lay her husband, but not as Marie remembered him. He was pale and gaunt, wearing some assortment of purple and black rags as he was splayed out on his back over the mattress. Sam's face had always been slightly tanned, and bouncy with constant smiles and an endlessly bubbly laugh, and he'd always slept on his side, mindful of how much room he took up on the bed. Most importantly there was an arrow protruding out of his chest, rivers of blood staining the white sheets beneath him. 

The most obvious difference, however, was that he was clearly dead. Her husband, Sam Holt, lay there dead on their bed. 

Marie fell to her knees, and so did her entire world. She heard it shatter like glass around her. 

And she heard Katie's words: " _Until they deliver us their dead bodies to our front door, I'm not buying it."_

 _Here it is_ , she thought. _My punishment for failing my family._

* * *

When Lance was finally able to push himself back to his feet forty-five minutes later, his body still spasming around him and a hand still clutched at his chest, he saw Coran was working frantically at his controls. His face was taught with stress and Lance could see the way he worried his lip between his teeth beneath his moustache.

"Coran," he forced out between shaking lips. It _hurt._ Everything. "What are you doing? What do we  _do_? The plan is already a bust and we haven't even started yet," he laughed, bitter and dry. 

"I'm pulling up the feed from the camera drones we have trained on the lions to see their current course. Aaannnd there we have it," Coran responded, as a image flew up onto the screen on the bridge. It showed Black, Blue and Yellow all taking off at twice their cruising speed, Keith leading the charge, if a bit unsteadily. Still nervous in his new lion. The Green Lion was nowhere to be seen. Coran noticed this with a concerned look, brows pulling downwards. "Green must have taken off ahead of the pack. She's out of range of the cameras. The other lions appear to be in pursuit if their speed has anything to say about it. But to where, I'm not sure." 

Lance did. 

Lance knew from the moment is heart began to burn with agony who's doing this was. There was only one person who was capable of hurting them all so catastrophically at once. Lance felt rage sizzle, hot and acidic, inside him. He felt it bubble up his throat to the back of his mouth, could taste it bitterness. 

"Portland. She's going home."

"You're sure?" Coran asked, eyes wide and shining. 

Lance nodded stiffly, feeling his stomach slither and hiss once again. He wasn't afraid of it this time, though. He allowed it to wind its way around his heart and sit at the base of his throat. It was his to command now, this terrible thing inside of him.

"This is proof that Lotor did survive that crash, and he wants us all to know it." 

Coran's throat visibly bobbed and he turned back to his controls, but his hands paused their movements. Lance saw him take in a lungful of air as his eyes slipped closed. When he spoke, his voice was small. "I was a father before Altea was destroyed. I had two children; a boy and a girl. They were killed during my planet's destruction, Alfor having forced me into a Cryo Pod before I could protest. At the time, there was no option, and he knew that. There was no chance for me to reach my family in time; the city was burning, you see. So he did what was necessary. I hated him because of it, for a time. The first few months of being awake again I almost wanted to give up, my life felt worthless without my children. But over time Allura became my priority, as Alfor always wanted her to; and so did the five of you. I fear for you all the same way I fear for Allura, and my children. You _are_ children, still. Fighting in a war a thousand times your age." 

Lance watched Coran with a heavy heart, feeling guilt seep into him when he realised he'd never really considered the older man having a family of his own. It was awful of him. He reached a shaking hand to rest upon Coran's shoulder as he opened his eyes to meet Lance's gaze again, firmly.

"Lance, dear boy, when you died, I felt it the same way I felt my children's deaths, and I never want to have to feel that again. But, when it comes down to it, you're all Paladins. You're all beyond my reach. It's your duty to put your lives on the line like that. No one ever said Voltron was forgiving. It takes and takes so much from it's Paladins, and honestly, it rarely ever gives back, as you have probably noticed. You were chosen for this—chosen, and you'll suffer for it, time and time again. And there is nothing I can do about it. So, that's why—despite how unfair it is of me to ask this of you, how cruel and terrible a _father_ it makes me—you must go to your family _now_. You must go to Pidge. It has to be  _you._ I can feel it." Lance could feel Coran's body trembling under his own shaking hand. Both of them, trembling, afraid, and suffering. "I know it may very well kill you again, though I certainly hope it doesn't, and I know you're still far too weak for this. But, I'm asking—no, I'm _ordering_ —you to go to your family." 

When Coran finished he turned to face Lance fully, both his hands rising to settle on his shoulders, warm and comforting. His eyes were flooded with about a hundred different emotions once, those multicoloured iris' of his making it look spectacular, like a kaleidoscope. Tears were brimming at the corners when he swiftly pulled Lance in for an embrace, squeezing tightly. 

Lance raised his own arms to return the embrace, feeling the same choking feeling he got whenever his own father comforted him like this. He felt at home in Coran's arms. Closing his eyes, he whispered. "I'll go; and I'll return. I promise. We all will." 

"I believe you," Coran responded. He pulled back to look Lance directly in the eye, those brimming tears now watery tracks down his cheeks. "Now, off to your lion, young man. We should still have enough residual energy from Allura to open a wormhole for you. I'll position it right above Earth, for a quicker entry."  

All too soon Lance was pulling himself reluctantly from Coran and making his way to his hanger door, glancing over his shoulder once at the older man, who gazed resolutely back. "I'll make sure Lotor is the one to suffer this time," Lance assured, his voice going low. 

Coran nodded, eyes hard. "Make sure that you do." 

* * *

Yellow was nervous under Hunk's hands. He could feel the lion twitching and growling inside his head, felt him vibrate through Hunk like a mountain collapsing within him, making everything shudder and creak. It threatened to completely overwhelm the Yellow Paladin as they three of them surged forwards after Pidge, who'd blinked out of sight by now. But they knew where she was going. There was only one answer to all of this, and it was down there on Earth, a slimy smirk upon that purple face. 

Hunk hoped dearly that he'd soon got to smashed his fist into that smirk, wiping it off Lotor's face permanently. Whatever Lotor had done to Pidge, it was worth Hunk's anger. All of it. 

Oh, and he'd give it to him. A gift just for Lotor, for messing with Hunk's family. He'd wrap it all pretty for him and deliver it with a bow around his fist and then tie it around his face when he was done dismantling it.  

"Keith," he heard Allura's voice over the comms. "We need a plan. If this is because of Lotor—" 

"It's  _definitely_ Lotor," Hunk snarled, anger like an infection through the lions' bond; he felt each of the Paladins responding to it with a wave of their own. 

"Then we need to approach this with caution. Running after Pidge will likely be part of his entire plan. He wants to hurt us. All of us." 

Allura had a point, and it had Hunk's awful thoughts on the many ways he could rearrange Lotor's broken face with his fists coming to a screeching halt.  _This is what he wants. I can't give it to him like this._

"What else are we supposed to do, Allura? Let Pidge run off into a trap _alone_?" Keith's voice came out as a growl through the comms, and he heard Shiro in the background trying to calm the other Paladin. Hunk imagined it was a lot like throwing a teaspoon of water over a fire—fruitless. 

"Of course not," she snapped back. "But we need to approach this as Lotor would. We need to think objectively for a moment. Firstly, what did he do to Pidge in the first place?" 

No one had an answer. The comms hummed silently while they all tried to think what he could have possibly done to cause Pidge so much pain that the rest of them felt it, too. But _no one_ had any idea, because when it came down to it, none of them really understood the way Lotor operated. Even Keith seemed to be at a loss. They knew Lotor was cruel, and creative and highly intelligent. But they were only general traits, nothing specific that would help them figure this out. And as Hunk saw Earth come closer and closer, grow larger and larger, filling his entire universe, he realised just how foolish it would be to go charging in without this vital piece of information. 

 _We should know this,_ he thought with frustration. 

Then—

_How do I not know Pidge well enough to know this. Am I a bad friend?_

Then—

A new voice over the comms, which had Hunk's stomach plunging down to the ground with dread. 

"I know what he did," came Lance's voice, fiery and rough, right as a wormhole opened up before them and the Red Lion came shooting out, roaring with fury. "And I know what he will do next."

 _No. Leave him out of this,_ Hunk thought desperately. 

At the same time, everyone gasped,  _"Lance?"_ in various states of shock and horror. Hunk could feel they were all thinking the same thing. _He's not well enough yet for this. He shouldn't be here._

Keith said as much. "Lance! You shouldn't be here! What the fuck are you thinking, you moron?" His voice was trembling with fear and anger which Hunk himself could feel through his entire body, turning his blood sour as his own worry took hold.

"I'm thinking what none of you guys were, apparently. Didn't you just hear what I said?" Lance answered, tone spiking with annoyance.

"If you snuck past Coran again..." Allura worried.

"I didn't. Coran's the one who told me to go. Now would you all  _listen_. Please." Everyone went quiet. Hunk could hear them all breathing through their comms as they waited for Lance obediently. "Lotor, he's either killed or threatened one of Pidge's family. That's what he does, he takes what you value or fear for most, and uses it against you. He understands emotional dynamics and how he can manipulate them. Somehow, he's come into contact with Pidge's family when he was on Earth. I don't know who. But I'm sure of it. I'm betting Pidge has turned her comm off because he told her to if she wants to protect someone."

"Jesus," Hunk heard Shiro mutter. He knew the Paladin was thinking about Sam and Matt Holt. Could sense the flicker of pain inside him, even without the lions' bond. Hunk realised he could sense the other's emotions much more strongly than before, as if sharing Pidge's pain had somehow bound them even closer together. He could feel Lance's cruel certainty, his scarily strong understanding of the situation, Allura's reasoning, analytical and controlled, and Keith's fury, crackling and dangerous. He couldn't feel Shiro, and it left him feeling like he'd lost something infinitely important. But he could still feel the flicker of Pidge's anguish and terror, and it took everything he had not to drive his controls hard forwards as they began their descent in Earth.

An overwhelming sense of deja vu flooded through him as he recalled this very same situation only a couple weeks ago when Pidge's lion had crashed into Earth. The familiarity of it all was eerie and terrifying.  

"Okay," said Keith, slowly. "So, what do we do?"

"You guys stay away from Pidge completely and continue the original mission," Lance answered straight away, as if it were obvious. 

"Umm, I think the fuck _not,_ " Hunk protested, glaring down at his controls. Curse Lance and his obsession with being the first one to make the sacrifice. Curse him and his big heart. He never changed—never learned. 

Lance's voice was icy when he responded to Hunk, who could feel his agitation at the same time. "I _know_ it seems stupid."

"It doesn't _seem_ stupid, idiot. It _is_ stupid," Keith hissed.

"Shut up, mullet. As I was saying, I promise it's not as stupid as it sounds. We're just altering Allura's plans slightly."

"You need backup, Lance," argued Shiro, reining in his worry to make his point sound as logical as possible, though Hunk could hear it waver at the end.

Lance laughed, high-pitched and far too good natured to be something he really meant. Lance only laughed like that when he was shit scared—when he knew he had no choice. "Are you kidding? I've got Big Red with me now. If she loves me even half as much as she loves Keith, she'll keep me safe and dandy." 

"He has a point," Allura replied, and Hunk hated her for it.  _Stop agreeing with him. Make him go back and stay out of harm's way._ "The Red Lion has shown immense dedication to her Paladins, as we learned with Keith. She'll look out for him." 

"I still don't like it," Hunk said at the same time Keith snarled, "Stop trying to get yourself killed, Lance." 

"As much as I adore all of you fretting over me," Lance begun, a tragic smirk inside his voice that had Hunk calling out, "Don't you  _dare_." 

"I gotta fly." 

And he did. Shot down to Earth faster than any of them possibly could and swept off in the direction of the Green Lion. Hunk could hear Keith yelling after him, his voice catching on his own fury. Hunk himself was speechless. 

_Did that just happen?_

_Did Lance just tell them all to piss off so he could risk his life alone?_

And—

_What do I do?_

"LANCE!" Keith roared, furious, but afraid. Not very good at conveying it, naturally, but Hunk could feel it, his deep-seated fear for Lance as he blinked out of sight in Red. From the looks of it they were entering over Europe somewhere according to Hunk's radar, and Lance was blasting off West towards the US. Towards home.

_Again._

All of this _again._  

Lotor knew his shit when it came to messing with them. 

"Keith, calm down," came Shiro's voice. "He has a point."

"I know but—"

"No buts. I know you're worried, we all are, but he clearly has a stronger read on the situation. Trust him." 

Keith's voice was frantic. "I do. I do. I  _do._ But we can't just let him—" 

"The last time we tried stopping him from doing something like this he managed to rescue you from pirates, Keith. Give him some credit," Allura interrupted with certainty, though she sounded just a fraction reluctant. "We must continue our original objective and locate Kolivan."

"Seems pretty redundant now, considering the situation. Though, I guess in actuality we already completed one part of it. We now know for certain Lotor survived." Hunk's voice was sullen, like a child who wasn't getting their way. He might have been humiliated if it weren't for the fact he couldn't give two shits. 

"Our objective as Paladins is to protect _all_ lives, Hunk," Allura snapped. "That includes Kolivan's. We owe it to him." 

"You know it's likely Lotor has taken him prisoner by now? If they've both been on Earth this entire time, then Lotor is bound to have taken advantage of it," Keith commented, still sounding miserable. Hunk supposed Shiro had finally eased him out of his frenzied state, to an extent. 

"All the more reason to find him. We owe it to Ulaz, Thace and Antok to bring their leader back. _You're_ the one who believed in them, Keith. The Blade of Marmora might be our last ally, we can't risk this alliance. So, we're going to trust Lance knows what he's doing on this one. Trust his judgement and carry on. If he needs us, he'll ask for it." 

Hunk wondered if perhaps the Black Lion had chosen the wrong Paladin.

There was a chorus of "Rights," from them all, before they set their course towards Nevada, towards that awful desert. Hunk was still feeling overwhelmed—by Earth, and by Lance's sudden initiative. Of course he trusted Lance, _of fucking course he did_. He just didn't trust this situation anymore. It felt dangerous and unpredictable when it was supposed to have been such a simple mission. Hunk could picture all the terrible possibilities hidden around every corner. He saw his friends suffering; injured, dead and worse. He saw Lance's blank eyes, as he dugs his nails into Keith's skin. Saw Keith's face turn purple. Saw Shiro's arm turn towards them. Saw Allura turn her back on them. Saw Pidge lose her will. There was also a lingering feeling of wrongness in the back of his head. If Lotor had gone after Pidge's family, he would of had to have known her identity to do so. Did he know all of their identities?

"Hunk!" Keith's voice broke through his distracted thoughts, spiking Hunk's annoyance as it always did these days. "You're falling behind. You have to keep up." 

"Sorry," he muttered, not feeling sorry at all. Something was wrong. Something was very very wrong, and he had a feeling Lance was heading straight into the middle of it, knowingly, like he always did. Alone, too. 

As he pushed his controls forwards, hard, he thought,  _we just have to keep the team together; keep each other alive._

A message blinked on his dashboard.   

* * *

When Pidge put her lion into her camouflage mode and hid her in the forest that flanked the city, her mind was blank, and her body, numb. 

When Pidge made her way unseeingly through the neighbourhood she felt no familiarity in her heart—perhaps she didn't have one anymore? 

When Pidge turned the corner onto the street she spent fifteen years of her life growing up on, she felt fifty years older than she was. 

When Pidge pushed past the unlocked door into the house she and her brother used to live in, she didn't recognise the photos that decorated the entrance hall. 

When Pidge turned the corner into the hallway towards the bedrooms, she wanted to gag at the smell that choked her. 

When Pidge found her mother crouched in the entrance of her and her husband's bedroom, she felt ill. 

When Pidge saw her father's body on the bed, blood staining the sheets like ink, she felt dizzy. 

When Pidge saw the alien with a crossbow pointed at her mother, she reacted. 

When Pidge pushed her mother out of the way, the crossbow released. 

When Pidge felt it imbed itself into her shoulder, someone screamed. 

When Pidge fell the floor, she didn't feel it. 

She felt hands. 

She looked up, and saw Keith's eyes. 

But it wasn't Keith.

It was the same face that had tried to end Lance's life, and their eyes were brimming with tears. Their face was twisted, like they were confused, as they looked down at Pidge in their arms. 

She heard them whisper, "I don't know what I'm doing anymore." 

Pidge was feeling incredibly light, but she answered the one with Keith's eyes above her. "You hurt people." 

Maybe she passed out, or maybe she died, (although, she doubted it) but the world tilted beneath her and she felt herself slip free. 

Somehow, Pidge whispered, " _You're the Devil."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> I felt so good up until the end of the day when everyone decided they were disappointed in me in some way or another. I think I'm being dramatic. I also think I should go to bed early. 
> 
> FYI I know like 0% about America except that Trump is ruining it right now. I just googled places with deserts in the USA bc I dunno where the Garrison is located. Correct me if I slipped up on any massive idiot mistake lolol 
> 
> Enjoy! Try not to suffer too much! Love you lots! xoxoxox


	14. Thirty-One + 18: Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance must learn how to take back things. Narti is suspicious of her comrade's loyalties. Keith is doubtful of Voltron's purpose.

Lance had always been a giving person. 

Almost everyone he knew had told him that at least once in his life. Though his mother was always adamant about telling him at least once _a day_. She was good like that. But Lance always insisted that he got it from her, seeing as she moved all the way from North America to live with his father in Cuba when they married. She'd completely relocated for his father; if that wasn't the definition of what makes a giving person, he didn't know what was. His eldest sister, Jasmine, too, was always grateful for him when he minded her two children. Jonathan and Isabel were grateful for the fact he resigned himself to the smallest room in the house because he was the youngest. 

The McClains had always been giving people. It was ingrained into them through generations, they welcomed and gave their hearts to the world. Lance, being the shy and sheltered child he was, grew up believing this was the way with everyone. 

So, when Lance entered the Garrison, he kept on giving without realising how little people valued that in High School. No one cared about how much you gave, only for how it would benefit them and their own devices. Lance had been confused, in Cuba, with his family, if someone gave you a part of themselves or their time, you returned something to them in gratitude. It didn't work like that in the US—in the Garrison. 

It was the first time he learned how cruel people could be. 

_He was seated behind Keith in class today, staring at the back of his head with tired, dull eyes. He could feel a migraine coming on as the teacher droned on and on about things he didn't understand. His chin resting in his palm, he watched the way Keith twisted a section of hair between his fingers. He could hear it grinding together and it made him want to throw a book at his ugly head. Keith's other hand was tapping impatiently against the table and Lance could see his head was angled slightly towards the clock at the front of class. They had about five minutes to go._

_It felt like five years._

_Lance's head fell in defeat. The migraine was his own fault; he'd forgotten to bring a water bottle to class and now he was suffering the consequences. He felt it curl up at the back of his head, painful and refusing to let up. He probably needed to go to the nurse's office after class to lay down._

_"McClain!" the teacher's voice snapped. "Eyes up here."  
_

_Lance's head snapped up so fast the pain in his head blinded him for a moment. "Sorry, miss!"_

_The entire class sniggered, except for Hunk—and Keith. Though Keith never laughed at anything and Lance was convinced he actually didn't have a personality. He was just a non-person, a blank piece of paper floating around the Garrison. Lance hoped he'd just conveniently float away._

_The last five minutes dragged along painfully slow, but finally—finally—the bell signalled the end of the period and the entire class broke out into a series of relieved sighs, the sound of books slamming shut filling the room. In front of him, Keith shot out of his seat so fast—still in the middle of shoving his books into his bag—and bolted through the door, the teacher shrilling after him angrily about manners. When Lance looked back to the mullet's desk, he sighed when he saw the idiot had left one of his workbook behind._

_'Just leave it,' Lance told himself. 'It's his own fault for always rushing out of the room.'_

_His hands itched._

_'Don't you dare, McClain.'_

_But when it came down to it, Lance had always been taught to be a giving person—to be the **nice guy** —and the thought of Keith failing an important class because Lance was too stuck up to return his property was out of the question. He'd never been very good being an awful person. _

_He rushed off out of class after Keith, swiping his workbook as he did and the teacher gave him the same scolding when he passed through the door. Every step caused his migraine to throb a little more, and he shouldered his backpack roughly to distract himself. When he caught the tell-tale head of black hair streaking left down the hall, weaving smoothly between all the other students filtering out of their classes, Lance shot off in that direction, apologising as he bumped into at least six people._

_As he finally caught up to Keith in a deserted hallway, he called out his name and the other boy stilled, shoulders rising in agitation like a cat._

_"Hey," Lance panted as he came up beside Keith. "Wow, you're fast, you know that? One might think you were running away from a nightmare or something," he laughed nervously. Keith's entire body looked taught and ready to snap. It didn't help his anxiety._

_"Something like that," Keith responded, slowly. His eyes dropped to Lance's, who was bent over, hands on his knees, as he tried to catch his breath and not pass out from his aching head._

_"Anyway, I was just stopping by to give this back to you." He offered the workbook to Keith in his hand, feeling the awkwardness in the air rise as the other kid just looked at it, unmoving. "You left it on your desk?" Lance tried, his anxiety spiking when Keith just rose a brow. He didn't look as thankful as Lance was hoping._

_"You know we were all meant to leave them behind after class for Herts to collect? It's part of our assessment," Keith said slowly, eyes running over Lance's face with cool detachment._

_"What?"_

_Annoyance flashed over Keith's face. "You really weren't listening, huh? Of course you weren't. Now can you go put it back before she collects them all? Maybe leave yours behind while you're at it?"_

_And then Keith swivelled around and left Lance behind to nurse his shock, humiliation and throbbing head. At the end of the hall he saw a tall man with an undercut waiting for Keith in his senior's uniform. Lance felt his insides twist low in his gut, making him feel ill. Keith didn't even try to appreciate the gesture, even if Lance was just fucking up as usual, and it left him feeling tied up inside. The Garrison, he realised, though not for the first time, really was a very ungiving place for boys like him._

_Or perhaps Lance simply gave too much._

_Later that week he asked Alisha a question he'd been worried about when she snuck him inside her dorm to make out for a while. They'd been dating for a few weeks now and he was generally pleased with the way things were going for once. He was on his back as she arched over top of him, kissing him greedily while her hand ran down his bare chest, when he thought, 'Am I maybe giving her too much free rein here?' He generally didn't mind being bossed around a bit when making out, was happy to bend as much as he liked to take. But he was suddenly self conscious that he wasn't giving her enough entertainment. Was he boring?_

_"Hey, Alisha," he murmured between their mouths. "Do you think I'm too giving?"_

_She pulled back, her long, dark hair hanging around her face like a curtain. He reached up to play with a section between his fingers. "What do you mean?" she asked._

_His other hand fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "Like, do you think I hand over too much of myself to people? Let them take too much from me? Am I too eager to renouce control?"_

_"Oh, nice word," she complimented. She was an English wizard and always appreciated creative words. Lance liked trying to surprise her with new words at least once a day._

_"Shush," he sniggered as he weaved a hand into her hair. God, she was so beautiful he could cry. "Seriously? What do you think?"_

_She thought about it for a second, her mouth pulled into a pout, which he leaned up to kiss for a moment, grinning when Alisha shoved him back down as she continued to brainstorm. "You're the loudest, most obnoxious kid in class," she commented._

_"Gee, thanks."_

_"But you never really ask for anything from people. Like the whole class has a group chat to cheat on homework and everything, but you never take part in it. Even if it means you get a shit grade, you always do your own homework. And if anyone ever asks something of you, you don't even hesitate to say yes. You always smile as well, even when Danny's group tries to pick on you."_

_"So I'm a pushover?" he replied sullenly._

_"No, you're just devoted. To yourself, but mostly to others. You're the kind of person to shove another out of the way of a moving vehicle or something dramatic like that," Alisha said, leaning back down she grazed her lips over his chin, murmuring. "Don't worry about it, Lance. Just keep yourself focussed on me."_

_Lance did worry about it though. He thought about Keith as her hand slipped down to run along his thigh and she pressed him further into the bed. Keith didn't let anyone walk over top of him, they were all too afraid and impressed by him to even try. He was untouchable. Lance imagined **he** wouldn't be the one lying here uselessly as a gorgeous girl ravished him. _

_It was the first time Lance ever considered that perhaps he should stop giving so much to people. He tried to act more like Keith as time went by, pretended he knew what he was doing in the simulator, talked about things like he didn't have a care in the world, tried being more aggressive in bed with the girls he dated, though they always seemed to run away no matter what he did. Alisha was his longest (sort of) girlfriend. But he was still called overbearing, annoying, a try-hard, a push-over. He couldn't seem to erase the names from his title._

"Lance," he heard Keith's voice snap over the comms. "Lance!"

Lance shook his head, driving the memories far, far away. It left him feeling dizzy. "Sorry. Day dreaming for a second there."

A moment later Keith's twisted face popped up on the screen on Lance's right, the little symbol down the bottom indicting he was using a private comm. His dark eyes were narrow and electric as they focussed on Lance's face. "There wouldn't be any chance of me convincing you to go back the castle, would there?" he asked, sounding completely serious.

Lance shook his head, pushing his bottom lip out. "No way, man. Pidge is my responsibility right now. Anything involving Lotor, it's mine to figure out."

"That's taking it a bit to the extreme, don't you think? We were both his prisoners."

"It's not about being his prisoners," Lance snapped, then pulled himself together with a deep breath. "Is Shiro there?"

Keith shook his head. "No, he's in the cargo bay getting some supplies."

"Okay, good. I'm still about twenty minutes out of Portland and could use a short distraction."

"Distraction?" Keith asked, tilting his head to the side, eyes glinting in the purple glow of the Black Lion. Lance wouldn't admit it out loud, but purple suited Keith— _Black_ suited Keith—it matched his eyes. 

"Yeah, I'm going to ask you a question, and you'll answer it, then you can do the same to me. One question; one answer. It can be as stupid as you like, or something awful and depressing. Your choice." Lance waved a hand, his eyes lingering on Keith's confused gaze for a moment before he turned back to his view screen. "Here, I'll cut the tension for you and start. What did you think of me back in the Garrison?"

"That's a stupid question," Keith grumbled.

"I did say stupid questions were valid here, didn't I? We value all questions here in the Big Red Car, don't we, girl? Toot toot, motherfuckers." He petted her controls just to prove his point, smirking at Keith.

"She's not a car," Keith mumbled. God, he was hopeless at times.  "And how are you so calm right now? How are you _smiling_?" Keith looked genuinely confused about this. 

"Your question can come later. Answer mine first," Lance responded. He wanted to hear this. Didn't know he needed to hear it until now. 

"Why do you care?" Keith asked, looking defensive. Lance greeted Keith with stubborn silence, which had the other Paladin sighing and thumping back in his seat. He watched Lance carefully as he answered. "I thought you were stubborn, a bit full of yourself and _straight._ " 

"You and me both, buddy." 

"I thought there was no reality where you and I would ever get along, even at the start of Voltron. You were so intent on disliking me that it seemed impossible." _Who's fault was that?_ Lance thought bitterly. "I hated the way you gave yourself so willingly to people as well. You were always so eager to please, even if it meant acting like the idiot I knew you weren't," Keith said with a strange intensity, and it had Lance rolling his lips nervously together.

"So, you did know who I was? All that time, you noticed me."

"Of course I did. I knew who you were from the very beginning."

That had Lance's head whipping to the side, seeing the way Keith's face pulled itself into a frown. "What do you mean?"

A shy smirk hooked up at the corner of Keith's mouth. "You already asked your question."

"Dick," Lance whined, head falling backwards into the headrest. 

His smirk twitched up into a full-on grin, wide and unrestrained, and it had Lance's skin feeling too tight for his body. He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, though he chose to blame it on Red and her stuffy cockpit. "My turn," Keith started, his voice turning frighteningly serious. It had Lance holding his breath. "What are we?"

Lance's eyes fell to the ground. He should have expected something like this, though he'd honestly been hoping Keith would ask something cryptic and off-topic. "That's very unspecific."

Keith's gaze was unrelenting. "I need to know, before everything potentially turns to shit again. I need to know what you feel. I can always see it swimming there on the surface, but I can never understand what it means, this look in your eyes. _Please_ , Lance." 

_Keith. If only I had the answer you needed._

He swallowed against the stickiness in his throat. "I—I I've been trying to figure it out. I thought I knew what I wanted, and I thought I knew what I was doing. But then," Lance paused and remembered: ' _I can always go to Shiro.'_ "Something snapped. And now every time I look at you..." 

"It's like I just can't help myself," Keith finished for him, his tone understanding, sympathetic even. 

"And I'm afraid, because I know in the past I've given myself all too willingly to people," Lance said, his voice wobbling a fraction.

"Like you're doing right now for Pidge."

"And you."

Lance saw Keith's eyes widen, felt them burning into his very soul as he stared at Lance with that strange intensity of his.

"Lance," Keith's voice cracked as he closed his eyes, screwing them shut tightly so Lance could see all those little lines around his eyelids. When he opened them again he looked afraid. "Lance I—"

"Keith," came Shiro's voice, cutting through the heaviness of their conversation like a knife. It had Lance wincing and Keith jumping in his seat, mouth still hanging loose on its hinges. His eyes sought out Lance's desperately, as though he were trying to convey some silent message to him. "How's Black at the moment? She's been steadier the last little while—oh, Lance, hello. What's your ETA right now?" 

"About ten or fifteen minutes until I'm at Green's location. Hopefully I can stop her before she gets herself stuck in anything terrible," Lance said, feeling heavy and disappointed in his seat as Shiro's face came in to view. Lance saw his hand fall on Keith's shoulder and had to swallow against the bitter taste the sight left in his throat, wanted to rip that hand away and snarl at Shiro to stay away. _God_ , these were awful thoughts and Lance was slightly disgusted with himself for thinking them. He hoped he was able to keep the sour expression off his face.

"Good. We trust you can carry this out. But, Lance, if you need us, please, _please,_ contact us. Don't think you have to do it all on your own if the situation becomes ugly. You can trust us too," Shiro said sincerely. As if Lance needed to feel any worse than he already did about his vicious thoughts towards their leader (ex-leader?). 

"Don't give all of yourself away," Keith added, so softly Lance almost didn't hear him. His eyes were focussed on his lap, not meeting Lance's eyes. "Leave some for us," he added, even softer. Lance practically had to read it off his lips.  

"I will."

Of this, Lance was certain.

When Lance clicked off the comms he felt a peculiar sense of calmness wash through him, relieving his still aching body from some of its burdens. His stomach stopped churning, his head cleared and his muscles stopped convulsing. Lance felt Red rumble beneath his gloriously steady hands, soothing over his mind comfortingly. Lance had never felt as sure about anything as he did about his current mission. Pidge was suffering because Lotor wanted to get back at them, perhaps even specifically Lance himself, and he knew he was the only one capable of understanding Lotor's intentions. They were both liars and pretenders, who hid behind masks and disguises so they could get what they want out of people. Perhaps for different reasons, but it was inherently the same. Lotor was the could-be version of Lance—a warped mirror that distorted Lance's image when he looked inside it. Lance could work with that the way none of the other Paladins could 

Yes, back in the Garrison, Lance realised he was most definitely too eager to please and surrender himself to the people around him. It was just the way he'd been brought up. Apart from Hunk and Pidge, no one had ever offered themselves up to Lance like he always did for them. He was biased and helpless when it came to his own selflessness. 

Voltron turned him selfish, though. 

He recalled that day in the hallway with Keith, when the other boy had willing offered _himself_ up to Lance, instead of the other way around. The biggest control freak he had ever known in his life bared his neck for Lance to take for himself. Surrendered himself to Lance's shuddering hands—his helpless  _will_ to finally take.

And take, and take, and take, and _take._  Keith offered, and Lance took it. 

All these years of offering himself, and then to suddenly have Keith, of all people, open himself up vulnerable for Lance. It had been addictive. Lance never knew _taking_ could be just as satisfying as giving. 

He would do both today.

He'd give Pidge his heart.

And take Lotor's from him.       

* * *

Narti didn't understand why Acxa was crying.

She crouched there with the small Paladin cradled in her arms, tears spilling over her cheeks, looking like she'd lost something infinitely important to her. But she'd lost nothing. The Paladin was nothing to them. She was a tool. A means to a greater cause. 

She asked as much, in that automated voice she despised so much. "Why are you crying, Acxa?" it asked, emotionless. It didn't carry her confusion like she wanted it to.

Axca's eyes slipped up to meet that of the Paladin's mother regretfully, who was sprawled out messily on the floor, confused and terrified. She kept repeating a name under her breath. "Because we were never meant to be murderers."

"We serve Lotor," Narti replied, stalking forwards to grasp the mother's hair in her fist. The woman cried out as Narti pulled her over to the bed, where she linked her hands together behind the post to keep her restrained.

"But he's making us do things he said we'd never have to do. He promised us there would be no blood on our hands." Acxa pulled the Green Paladin closer to herself, like she wanted to protect her. "We used to conquer planets without a single causality. Lotor has never been cruel like this, not until now. Not until Voltron."

"It's just the way things are." Narti wished Acxa would give up talking so she could stop using this awful fake voice. She felt alien to herself when she used it.

"Doesn't means it's the way they should be. Do you even feel guilty for what you did to her father?"

Of course she didn't; they were orders and Narti found this question vaguely suspicious. On her shoulder Kova hissed while Narti's tail wished with annoyance. She cocked her head sideways. "Will you betray us?"

Acxa's eyes pulled themselves away from the terrified mother, who was staring at her daughter with wide eyes.

Her gaze was flashing with fire when she met Kova's eyes. "Of course not."

"Then there is no issue, is there, Acxa dear?" came another voice. 

Acxa's face fell, going pale as she realised whose voice had just spoken. If Narti could, she might have grinned at the brief terror that passed through those dark eyes.  

"Prince," Acxa managed to get out with impressive calmness, considering her previous state. "I'm glad to know you survived the crash. I assumed you had, but confirmation like this is most pleasing." 

Lotor scoffed over the radio, his screen popping up from the device in Narti's suit by her wrist. His purple eyes were narrowed in on Acxa. "No need to grovel. We have little time for that nonsense," he said flippantly. Narti could see the blue Earthen sky behind him, and hear strange crashing sounds of water. "Narti, do we have confirmation that you've secured little Green? I can see her, yes, but confirm it for me. Is she _secure_?" he emphasised, and she understood why.  

Narti nodded and Kova purred. 

"Excellent. Dear Blue should be at your location soon, if my intuition has anything to say about it. Do see to it that you subdue him; leave him relatively unharmed for me. So long as you have little Green in your clutches he'll be restricted with his actions. Don't fail me."

Kova hissed with assurance. Narti could still see Acxa staring helplessly up at Lotor's image, her hands clutching Green closely. Lotor's curious gaze caught onto this with sharp focus. "Oh, Acxa dear, I hope you haven't become too attached to the Paladins during your time with them. This one will be yours to dispose of when all is said and done. I only have use for two of them, and perhaps the Princess, if I'm feeling greedy."

Acxa gulped, but nodded obediently, her eyes flickering with something uneasy. 

Narti decided that she'd have to keep an eye on their second from this point on. 

* * *

"There's something on your mind," Shiro said to Keith ten minutes after he finished his conversation with Lance. His heart was still a trembling thing under his ribs as he remembered the sound of Lance's voice saying, _"And you."_ The moment those words left Lance's mouth Keith's entire body went numb with a million different emotions, so overwhelming that he was kind of worried that rest of the Paladins would feel it through the link. 

Keith looked over to Shiro, braced on the side of his seat, with worried eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Ever since you got back with Lance from those pirates I feel like you've been avoiding a certain part of it. You get these expressions during Allura's debriefs now like you don't agree with what we're doing."

_Oh._

He was going on about _that_. In between distracting himself with Lance lately Keith had almost forgotten Jone's words. The guilt of this had Keith shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  

"Does it have to do with why you didn't fly Black when she chose you?" Shiro asked carefully. 

Keith's hands on the controls tightened. "Partly," he admitted. "I was also afraid of you at the time." 

Shiro flinched back at this. " _Why?_ " 

"You looked like you hated me. Like I'd just ripped your entire world out from under your feet."

"Oh, oh," Shiro murmured quietly. "I'm sorry for ruining that for you. I should have been proud that she chose you, but I—I guess even I can't help being an asshole about things at times."  

"It's not your fault," Keith assured, pursing his lips together as they crossed over onto land and into the US. They were likely around half an hour from Nevada now, and it had Keith feeling nervous about returning to his shitty shack. It was shitty for so many _worse_ reasons now.

He thought about Jone instead, and that terrible look on his face when he'd allowed Keith and Lance to escape—betrayed and hurt, but resigned. He knew what was right, and did it no matter how much it devastated him to let them go. He'd wanted Keith to hear out his Captain, and Keith had run off with Lance instead.

"Shiro," Keith began, afraid of the words that were about to come out. "Are we the same as the Galra now?" 

Shiro's hand clutched onto Keith's shoulder tightly, metal fingers digging in tight between the gaps in his armour. "Why would you think that?" 

Keith looked down guiltily. "When I was on the pirate's ship, I met someone called Jone. We liberated his planet, Dastanov, three months ago, but in doing so we accidentally burned down his house. We killed his lover and took his eye, just the Glara have done to so many others, Shiro. So, I'm asking how we can possibly think we're any better?"

"Keith, there is no way you can compare the two of us," Shiro asserted, his voice turning determined, as though he wanted Keith to banish those thoughts from his head entirely. "We fight to protect, the Galra only destroy."

"Yes, but both sides are capable, and have, _killed_ before. So, the ones stuck in between the crossfire lose either way, don't they?" Keith challenged.

Crouching down, Shiro ordered Keith to look at him. He did, reluctantly meeting Shiro's haunted eyes. "Keith, trust me, if you go down this line of thinking it will only confuse and hurt you. It will start to consume you, and you won't be able to make the choices you need to make."

"So, I should just pretend those people aren't dying? That we aren't destroying their homes and lives while we go about _saving the universe_. But at the same, we destroy theirs?"

Shiro shook his head. "Of course not. God no. I'm just saying you need to be careful about this train of thought when you're the leader, it can stump your decisions."

Keith was about to answer when Allura suddenly interrupted them in a frantic, shrilling voice. So panicked that Keith couldn't even make out the words. But her worry was evident enough for him to feel suddenly cold.

"Allura, calm down," he said. "What happened? What's wrong?"

All it took was a name.

"Hunk," she forced out, afraid. "He's flown off course suddenly." 

And then Keith could feel it, the deep-seated anxiety and fear that had slowly been building up inside him, though he hadn't known where it was coming from. He knew now. It was Hunk's, subdued and quiet, trying to blend in so it wouldn't be noticed, just like Hunk always had. 

Keith blanched. 

"Lotor, he's splitting us up." 

_God save us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> This ended up a little gayer between Lance and Keith than intended bc I received an anti gay marriage flyer in my letterbox, and like, my bi ass started angry typing. This postal vote is bullshit. But it's okay, mum's gonna put rainbows on our letterbox so the antis stay away. *big sigh* The no campaign is really grasping at straws though. They have no valid arguments lololol. So, advocating here, if there any Australians reading this, don't forget to vote yes in the upcoming vote! 
> 
> Anyway! Enjoy! xoxoxoxo


	15. Thirty-One + 18: Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations of evil are being undergone, but one is not like the others. Keith still doubts, himself mostly. Lance spirals, neither down or up, he just, spirals. 
> 
> Note: I struggled with this so much and I kinda hate certain parts, also I'm slightly tipsy, so grammar may curveball more than usual.

When Lotor pressed his foot harshly into the back of the girl's head, her cry was muffled by the strange sediment that lined many Earthen coasts. He heard her choke on it as the weight of his boot forced it inside her mouth, wet and grainy. When a small wave washed up past her face, that choke turned into a gagging cough as water mixed in with the sediment.

He watched with bored eyes as the sun steadily approached the coastline, bleeding gold, red and pink into the cloudless sky. He was becoming impatient, aware of the excitement that was surely soon to happen, and wishing it would come sooner. The ache in his severed wrist reminded him how much he hated this planet, and because he was feeling irritated, he pressed his metal boot into her head even harsher, surely bringing about painful bruises on the girl's flesh.  

This time, she _screamed_ , ragged and muffled, but Lotor heard it loud and clear. It improved his mood a fraction. 

"You know," he began, crossing his arms. "Just so you're not completely miserable, I'll give you this. Your dear brother  _is_ alive." He saw the way she stiffened at this, the hands strapped behind her back clenching into fists. Anger. Interesting. "But he's also the reason this is happening to you right now. So, for that, I  _am_ sorry. It's dangerous having your life depend on the actions of another, believe me, I know." 

He heard her try and say something, which surprised him, seeing as she was choking on dirt right now. It caught his interested. So he hooked the toe of his boot into the back of her shirt, lifted her up so she could speak. 

"Repeat that please, dear," he coaxed. 

Her fierce blue eyes glared up sideway at him, water and dirt dripping off her face. She looked so much like her younger brother Lotor was tempted to bring her along with him after everything was all said and done. 

"If what you say is true," she rasped, her voice almost unrecognisable, raw and rough, as the sediment tore up the inside of her throat. "Then I feel sorry for  _you._ Lance is unbearable when you take what's his. _I_ would know." 

Lotor shoved her back down so hard he was sure he heard something crack. She did not speak again. 

* * *

When Lotor informed them that Narti had located Acxa, Ezor's hand had hesitated as she finished fastening the yellow Paladin's mother to her restraints. Her limp, unconscious body hung half suspended in the air, her knees bent uncomfortably on the ground while her hands were fastened to the roof with rope.

Everything was set.

The Yellow Paladin was on his way and he'd be undoubtedly racing as fast as his lion could take him to make it on time, thus leaving only two lions for them to deal with. It was exactly as Lotor anticipated; a human being's driving force was their heart, and it was strange and invigorating for Ezor to watch this all come to life around her. Human beings were  _adorable;_  the way the all just fell over one another for their heart's desires—fascinating.

But then she heard Lotor's words: _"Narti has located Acxa and are now in pursuit of little Green and dear Blue. This day just keeps getting better."_

She could have sworn her heart had dropped all the way into her stomach. 

Her hands went numb upon hearing this and her eyes had slowly tracked over to Zethrid, whose arm was raised as she consulted with Lotor on the projection by her wrist. He looked pleased, as he should be, his purple eyes alight with an energy she'd never seen before. He looked as though he were watching the universe burn. Perhaps he was. Things were going much better than expected, considering their limited resources. But Ezor couldn't focus on any of that. The only thing inside her mind right now was the same repeating words, _Narti has located Acxa._

Acxa was alive.

Breathing. 

Living.

And safe. 

Ezor didn't realise she'd been avoiding thinking about Acxa's fate until now, as her heart rapidly began to pick up pace again. It felt stronger than before. 

When the woman's body began to tilt she squealed and quickly put her hands back to work, ensuring the restraints were tight enough. It wouldn't be long now until she woke up. Ezor could see her eyes moving beneath the lids and a slight crease between her thick brows which suggested she was slowly fighting her way into consciousness. When Ezor caught a faint whiff of the smell behind her, she suddenly gagged, feeling ill as she remembered what it was they had set up here. Not for the first time, she wondered how Lotor came up with these cruel and malicious ideas so easily.

And, she wondered why he never _participated_.

_That's a dangerous line of thought, Ezor. Stop it._

"Big Yellow will be on your location soon," Lotor continued to Zethrid. "Ensure that the both of you are out of sight so you can catch him off guard."

Ezor and Zethrid nodded in assent. When the Prince's face disappeared, Ezor felt her shoulders droop, which, of course, did not go unnoticed by her comrade.

"What's wrong?" Zethrid asked on the other side of the woman, her tone harsh as she pulled out her weapon. "I thought you'd be glad Acxa is back?"

Ezor strategically ignored the awful thing behind her. If she pretended it wasn't there, perhaps she could keep this odd sense of guilt stowed away where it belonged. Which was to say, stomp it out completely. Her eyes slipping attentively to the side, she avoided Zethrid's gaze, feeling suddenly exhausted now that Lotor's eyes weren't upon her. "I am. I just—I'm tired, is all. I think this planet's atmosphere is messing with me. My skin feels too dry. I miss my moisturiser," she moped, the lie heavy on her tongue.

Zethrid's scared face scrutinised Ezor for a long moment, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, before she shrugged and turned away to the door. "Understandable. Don't worry, soon we'll be out of here and Voltron will be decimated and we can finally move on from this mess."

Ezor nodded, even though Zethrid couldn't see it. "Sounds like a dream come true." However, something was nagging at her, and after finding out Acxa was alive and well, it was rising to the surface again. She knew a smarter person would keep it to themselves, to avoid suspicion. But Ezor had never been known for her wits. So, just as Zethrid was about to exit, her face pulling into a frown, she added. "Why didn't Lotor tell Acxa about the half-breed's relation to her? He told the rest of us of his suspicions, of his connection, but he sent her to Earth to do some digging to keep her away from it. What was he afraid of?"

Zethrid paused, glancing over her shoulder at Ezor. She couldn't read her comrade's expression as she said, "People do stupid things when their family is brought into the equation. Haven't you been paying attention to the Paladins? What do you think would have happened if Acxa found out?"

Ezor looked away, feeling a scolding coming on; she hated it when they belittled her like this. "I don't know."

"Exactly. We _don't know_ what she would have done. Half the reason Lotor was able to keep her in check when she was first under his command was because he dangled her mother in front of her. Acxa's family has always been her priority. Lotor didn't want to risk her loyalty."

"Right, of course." Ezor nodded, keeping her eyes downcast and breathing through her mouth as the eye watering smell continued to smother the room. It was heavy inside her lungs and she wanted to choke on it. 

Not for the first time Ezor thought about that photograph of this woman and her lover, the way they looked at each other and the gentle touch of their hands. And, also not for the first time, she felt the same sense of longing deep inside her. 

How did Lotor buy _her_ loyalty? She'd never had a family for him to hang over her head, unlike Acxa. The only thing she could remember was Lotor approaching her on her collapsing planet, grinning in that way he always did, like the world he stood on wasn't currently dissolving beneath his feet. But it wasn't him she'd been drawn to, it was the one who stood on his right, her steady-fast gaze focussed on Ezor as Lotor began to speak. Ezor couldn't hear any of it at the time, whether that be from the ringing inside her ears after being half blown up, or because she was too distracted by the girl beside him. All she knew was that he asked her a question, and she nodded, and then he seemed pleased and simply breezed away, leaving the other girl with him to approach Ezor.

She'd held out a hand to Ezor, eyes fiery and determined. _"My name's Acxa. I look forward to working with you."_

And Ezor had replied, feeling breathless, " _Yeah, me too. Sounds like fun,"_ having no idea what she'd gotten herself into.

Perhaps the sudden resurfacing of that memory was what caused guilt to surge through her when she moved towards the door and cast one more glance over her shoulder to the hanging woman, her body twitching as she finally woke up. She winced at the way her head leaned forwards, nearly knocking into the one before her in the same way she had in that photograph. Only this time it didn't fill Ezor was a strange sense of longing, but made her stomach clench like someone had thrust a dagger inside her.

Ezor had never known uncertainty like this.

She decided she loathed it. 

* * *

"Hunk!" Keith shouted, his voice going hoarse. "Hunk, don't you dare go silent on us, too!"

Nothing.

Only the nerve wracking crackle of static as Keith's words reached nothing but a dead-end. He almost felt the way they ricochetted back into him as they bounced off of Hunk's terrifying  _silence._

He'd turned off his comms and Yellow was shooting off north towards _god_ knows where.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_ ," Keith snarled, feeling the stress of the quickly crumbling situation translate itself naturally into anger and frustration. 

"Calm down, Keith," Shiro said firmly.

Keith shot an angry look over his shoulder at Shiro, whose eyes were focussed on the screens showing Yellow's new path. "What's there to be _calm_ about? Everything's turning to shit _again_. I think this deserves a little fucking goddman panic!" he snapped. 

"Not when you're the leader."

"I'm not the leader, _you are_!" Keith burst out, feeling the way the words burned his throat on the way out. He felt Black growl beneath him, displeased with his current state of mind. Under that, Keith could still sense the lingering terror Hunk was feeling right now and his entire body slumped forwards against his controls with defeat. "I can't do this, Shiro. I can't keep everyone together, let alone bring them all back again. The Black Lion made a mistake when she chose me."

"The lions don't _make_ mistakes," Allura's hard voice cut in, her sweaty, resolute face popping up on the screen beside him. She looked just about as happy as he did, which was to say, she looked absolutely fucking miserable. "It's this line of thinking that's costing you your bond, not the lion's decision. Stop doubting yourself and make a decision already."  

"Allura's right, Keith. You can't pin this on the lion," Shiro agreed slowly, hesitant, and it had Keith's stomach sinking low. He wasn't used to Shiro siding against him. He realised now how selfish he'd been with Shiro's attention all these years, how much he'd grovelled, consumed and hogged it all to himself because he was too afraid of being left behind.   

"You need to move past your own doubts and decide what we need to do," Allura insisted. "And you need to do it _right now_."

Keith could almost imagine Lance's voice lilting sarcastically over the comms. ' _No pressure or anything.'_ He imagined the way his thin lips would pull into that crooked grin and the forward jut of his chin as he waited for a reaction from Keith. His eyes would twinkle with humour, too. Keith was a little put off by this new habit of his of filling in Lance's voice and actions himself when he wasn't around. He'd fuck up on the training simulator, and in his head he'd hear himself tease, in Lance's voice, ' _nice one, dumbass.'_ In a way, it was almost soothing to pretend Lance was there like that, it settled his electrified nerves, to an extent. Enough that he could take a deep breath and figure out what he should do right now.  

His hands gripped the controls tightly while his face scrunched up against this onslaught of reprimands from Shiro and Allura. They were still shouting things around him, both to him and each other, and Keith could feel the way those words pressed up against him—wanted to flinch back against them. It wasn't making him feel any surer: Shiro's expectations, Allura's demands. He was afraid—afraid he'd only let them down, like he always did. He tried, after Pidge took off, he'd tried and now things were even worse. 

Lotor was watching him, anticipating his actions, taunting, smirking, playing his filthy games all over again. Keith couldn't combat _that_. He couldn't smirk back and recite a shitty movie quote and pretend everything was alright.  

The only voice inside his head right now was _protect. ProtectprotectprotectPROTECT._ But it wasn't telling Keith _how_ he could do that. It was like his brain just skipped over the tutorial of how to come to a decision all of a sudden. The pages were gone, and he was flying in blind to a situation he couldn't anticipate. Doubt was like a blackhole inside him.

The Black Lion was terrifying and unstable under his hands, so Keith couldn't rely on her to help him in the middle of his crisis. All he could think of was Lance going after Pidge, running off into such uncertainty that it had Keith's entire soul writhing inside him with terror for him. But—

Lance had understood what was happening the moment Pidge's pain shot through them all like fire. Keith may not understand Lotor, but he was learning new things about Lance everyday, and one thing he had learned how to do was to reach out when he felt backed into a corner. 

With a shuddering breath, Keith tried to reach out to Lance now through the lions' bond, swivelling past Allura's panic, Hunk's dread and Pidge's numbness, to seek out that single rope of good natured calm Lance always radiated, though it was currently tinged with discontent, blackened at the edges. As soon as he felt he had a grasp on it—on _Lance_ —Keith tugged, as if trying to get his attention. If it could have, Lance's calmness turned to him, and then, Lance was completely washing over Keith; his thoughts, his feelings, his hopes and his fears, all wrapping themselves around Keith as he felt the two of them form a tight knot around each other. He felt the flicker of reassurance, like the brush of fingers over the back of his hands.

Something inside him pulsed. 

_You can do this._

**_I can do this._ **

_Don't overthink it._

_Trust yourself._

**_Trust myself._ **

Keith had an idea. It was probably awful, and he was really just copying Lance, but it was an idea nonetheless. 

"Okay," he breathed, relaxing his face as he met Allura's unbreakable gaze again. "Okay. Someone needs to go after Hunk. We can't have any of us completely alone. So, Allura, you follow him while me and Shiro continue the original objective. Like you said, we can't risk this alliance with the Blade." His voice shook as he said this, but neither Allura or Shiro were protesting. "We can't leave anyone alone. Lance is with Pidge, and I have Shiro with me. We need each other."

"Right, if Lotor's goal is to pick us off one by one then we can't allow any of us to fight alone," Shiro agreed, his metal hand falling onto Keith's shoulder, cool even through his suit. "That's a good idea, Keith."

_It's a ripoff of Lance's idea, but okay._

His stomach settled a fraction at Shiro's encouragement and he gave grateful smile over his shoulder.  

"Voltron is always stronger together," Allura nodded in assent. " _That's_ the line of thinking that will strengthen your bond with your lion, Keith. You can do this," she asserted, a sideways grin appearing on her face. He sensed the odd tickle of pride brush over him at her praise. 

With that, Allura shot off in the same direction as Yellow, leaving Keith and Shiro alone.

Keith still had a bitter taste on his tongue, though, noticed it feaster the longer he felt Shiro's eyes on the back of his neck. The longer the silence stretched out, the more the situation began to weigh down on them again. To distract himself, Keith said, "You know it's likely Lotor will try and target us, too." 

"That's true," Shiro nodded, his voice hard, strained, and ready to snap. Keith noticed it took a lot less than it used to for Shiro to begin to lose his cool. And Keith had a suspicion why his threshold was so low today in particular. 

"Your aunt..." Keith began, tapering off at the end as he felt Shiro's hand clench over his shoulder. It hurt, but Keith didn't say a word. He coughed and picked himself up again. "If they're going after all our family—"

"No," Shiro cut in, sharply. "We're sticking to the mission. We're sticking to your plan." Shiro didn't sound as certain as Keith thought he wanted himself to. When he glanced over his shoulder he could see the way Shiro's face was stretched with worry, his skin pale and thin over his bones, making the scar across his nose look stark and ghastly. He looked terribly conflicted, as though he was being pulled in two different directions at once. Keith knew that feeling all too well. "I trust your judgement."

He wasn't so certain that was a good idea. 

Keith wouldn't trust himself if his life depended on it. 

So when he swung his lion south, decision made, he ignored the way Shiro's hand dug into his shoulder as he shouted for him to stop.

For once, Black was content to follow Keith's demand. 

Another thing Keith had learned from Lance, was how to lie. 

* * *

When Lance stood outside the door of Pidge's home in Portland he recalled the first time she had brought him here. It was during spring break, and she'd reluctantly brought him here after his own family left for a holiday to Australia. Less than pleased about the prospect of bringing him along, Pidge had all but shoved him inside, down the hall, and slammed the door shut to her (him at the time?) bedroom, boxing him inside like she was about to interrogate him. 

She'd given him one instruction.  _"Don't go into the bedroom on the left."_

He'd had a finger raised in question the entire time, and had arched a brow at her when she let out a deep, relieved breath, as if she'd been holding that in for days.  _"Okaaaay. So, I was expecting to be given the chance to swoon your mum, but I guess that's not happening."_

She'd given him a strange, crumpled expression then, her gaze falling to the floor when she replied, _"I wouldn't expect **anything**  from her if my life depended on it."_ 

The emphasis on those words hadn't gone by unnoticed by Lance, but he'd left it hanging. He'd left it hanging for _over a year_ , respecting Pidge's privacy.

He could still feel it hanging now, as he crossed the threshold into the disturbingly silent house, wincing at the sound of his boots against the floorboards. He had no idea what he was going to find in here, but if the curling sensation inside his gut had anything to say about it, it wasn't good. He wasn't sure if he would be prepared for a fight, his body was still lagging behind the rest of him and he was perhaps starting to regret turning away any backup from the others.

But if Lotor were here, he couldn't stand the thought of any of the the others being here to face his wrath. Lance wanted it all for himself, so he could shove it back down his throat and force him to choke on it. Lance didn't want any of the others to see him embrace this side of him—willingly. He could hide behind the excuse of Lotor forcing it out of him last time, when he'd attacked Keith and Shiro, but not this time. The less people around, the better. 

Lance's hands shook fiercely with his intermingling fear and anger, felt it all coiling around each other inside his blood as it rushed through him, making his entire body feel just as unstable. His right hand lingered by his thigh, ready to retrieve Keith's— _his—_ bayard if necessary, though he had no idea what form it would take now. For all he knew a giant dildo or something equally terrible could appear with the confusing rate his mind was working. 

He heard a noise coming from the hallway, where all the bedrooms were situated. 

He followed it. 

Followed all the way to the room he was never supposed to enter. 

Pidge's mother's room.

He'd seen her once, during his third stay here, like a ghost as she drifted soundlessly out the door and into the bathroom across the hall, where the sound of her throwing up soon followed. It was the one time Lance had ever seen one of Pidge's parents.

He'd asked Pidge about that incident, but he was only met with a fierce glare and a devastatingly closed off expression. He bugged her a few more times about it out of his annoying curiosity in other people's lives, but he was always met with the same deadly look. Exponentially  _denied._ Lance had never understood this relationship between Pidge and her mother, the hostility and _secrets._ Him and his mother were never like that, sure they had their spats, but they didn't  _avoid_ each other for a whole year. Though he realised now it likely had everything to do with Pidge's father and brother and her very  _identity_ being firmly held at bay from him and Hunk entirely. 

He opened the door with a dreadful, slow, creeeaaakk. 

When he saw the mess laid out inside that room—the one he'd never been allowed to enter—Lance felt anger he'd never experienced before poison his blood, blackening it like ink.

It had him activating his bayard, feeling it settle within his shaking palm, as he saw Sam Holt sprawled out, dead and bleeding on the pristine white sheets. It had him lowering his stance into a half crouch, stabilising his body, as he saw Pidge's mother chained to the bed and gagged with a cloth while her eyes bulged with confused terror. It had his gut recoil and then violently hiss when he saw Pidge, unconscious, bleeding and inside the arms of _Acxa_ at the other end of the room, watching him with wide eyes as he entered. 

He allowed his mind to let go of itself, loosen and stretch, like he always did when he activated his bayard, and felt it transform inside his palm. From the corner of his eye, he saw it elongate, slick and simple, into a staff longer than he was tall. As the end formed, Lance saw it crackle with red electricity threateningly. The very tip of it thinned out into a wicked looking blade, the energy curling around it.

It wasn't stable as he shifted it into both hands in front of him, but he trusted himself to wield it. He had no choice but to. 

From her place crouched on the ground, Acxa's eyes widened, her face falling slack at the murderous gleam in Lance's eyes. A second later he saw her eyes flicker to his right and _—_

An arrow flew by his face, sparkling with purple energy, and slammed into the wall opposite. His cheek began to sting once again as blood dribbled over his skin. But this time he didn't flinch. He saw the flick of a reptilian tail and a warning hiss just as the ugliest cat Lance had ever seen leapt off the faceless woman's shoulder towards him, claws glinting in the light.

Lance hit it with the end of his new staff, sending the ugly thing flying across the room with a terrible, pained scream before it thudded against the wall. It didn't get up. Did Lance mention he _hated_ cats? Ironic as fuck, seeing as he flew one. _Whatever._  He heard the faceless woman's tail thwack angrily against the wall beside her and turned to point the staff threateningly at her, the red electricity crackling.

She looked suddenly frozen, as though something vital had just been pulled out from under her.  

"If you fucking move I'll stab the end of this right into your ugly face," he snarled. Yes, his hands still shook, but swinging a staff wasn't impossible, he didn't need to be in control. "Unlike your coward boss, I won't hesitate in killing you."

A small lie, that just might not be a lie after all. He hadn't figured it out yet.

But it did the job—had the faceless woman pausing her tail's swishing, and, if she had a face, he imagined it would have screwed up with indecision. It made him uncomfortable, not having a face to read. He couldn't tell her intentions on this blank one in front of him. 

All at once, everyone _—living _—__ seemed to hold their breath as they waited for someone to make the first move. 

Lance hoped the ugly cat was dead. It was the most pleasant thing that could come out of this day. 

He should have shot Acxa full of holes instead of letting her go free in that pod. 

His gut hissed at him.

_Kill._

_The only way to protect is to kill._

_Kill them both._

_Bathe your hands with their blood._

He channelled Hunk's sudden dread, Pidge's grief, Allura's desperation and Keith's fury deep within himself, letting it all sit right beside his heart, ready to unleash five _—_ no  _six _—__ Paladins' worth of vengeance on the ones responsible for all this. 

No one fucking touches Pidge. It was the unspoken rule of Voltron. 

And those who did, would pay dearly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Ha so I struggled with this one lol. 
> 
> I lost a little spark for a couple days. And so I have a request from you guys. Would you mind commenting your favourite parts or aspects of this fic so I can take note of what to push forward in proceeding chapters? I wanna keep pleasing people and appreciate any crit you may have. 
> 
> Also I wanna sigh so bad right now guys bc I saw my travel agent the other day and I'm like half in love with her but she's straight as hell and I wanna cry. 
> 
> yeah i am tipsy. 
> 
> Love you!! xoxox 
> 
> Please forgive if you find this chapter awful, I promise to fix the following ones.


	16. Thirty-One + 18: Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eighteen days ago the beginnings of something snapped into place, though no one noticed. The Paladins reach out to one another and Voltron's true purpose is revealed, but, also, perhaps abused. 
> 
> Short but interesting and strange chapter ahead.

During that night eighteen days ago Keith had clung to Lance like he was afraid he'd disappear from beneath his hands. He'd whispered as much into Lance's heated skin. _"Don't leave me. Stay here. Please don't leave me alone ever again. I need you. Stay, stay, stay, stay."_ Punctuating each fearful word with another sloppy kiss against some other part of him.

_"Is that what you fear most?" Lance breathed while Keith scattered kisses over the bridge of his nose. Those trembling hands of his gripped the hem of Keith's shirt uncertainly. "Being alone?"_

_"Why does it matter?" Keith murmured._

_When Lance's leg hooked itself around his thigh Keith gasped into his mouth, which was moving again as he said, "Because it's important; to understand each other."_

_"I still don't see your point."_

_"There's no point, idiot," Lance moaned and his hands dragged themselves over Keith's sides, around his shoulders, along his neck, to settle against his cheeks. Keith's head shook in his unsteady grasp. "It's just something I want to know. Not for the team, not for battle, or group bonding times or anything at all to do with Voltron. I want to know for myself. No one else has to know. It can stay between us."_

_Keith ignored this by pressing himself hard down into Lance, driving the other boy's body deep into the bed, as if Keith could bury him there and keep him safe forever. Just hide him under the blankets and stow him away from the rest of the universe. So no one could ever put another mark upon him ever again. Even the thought of Lance walking out the threshold was more than he could bear right now and it had him sinking his teeth into Lance's throat, right where his shoulder began, directly over the top of a pulsing blue vein._

_Lance jerked beneath him, hands tightening on his cheeks, and he gasped, "Stop ignoring me. I just want to understand. C'mon, Keith."_

_Keith pulled himself reluctantly away to stare down at Lance. His eyes were narrow slits as he gazed steadily back at Keith, dark and fathomless in the dim room. "Understand **this** , I was alone for most of my life, so I'm used to it now." _

_"You can still be afraid of something you're used to," Lance pointed out. Keith winced when he shifted beneath him and the harsh point of Lance's hipbone dug into his thigh. Lance was so thin, every bone jutting out too far and the shadows cut into his face like razors. It made Keith angry. It made him sad. It made him a million different things at once and it both electrified and frightened him._

_"I'm not afraid to be alone—not anymore."_ _Lance cocked his head with keen interest. The adorable gesture drew Keith in close, leaning in to press their foreheads together. Lance's skin was dewy and warm against his. Keith felt it catch against his when he said, "I reject it now. I refuse to ever be lonely again. So don't worry about me, Lance."_

_Then both his hands were running over Lance's arms—his shirt, gone, leaving him bared just for Keith—tracing their firmness all the way up to the hands against his face, where he covered them with his own. Lance almost recoiled at this action, and he closed his eyes against whatever terrible memory was resurfacing. Keith allowed him to, allowed him to lose himself to his own mind before slowly fighting against it to return to him._

_Keith understood._

_Lance had been right before._

_All Keith had ever wanted was someone to understand. Someone he could learn about—learn their fears, dreams, love, desires and their trust all for himself, to bottle it all away and uncap it every night before he slept so he could continue to learn about them in his dreams._

Something strange snapped into place that night between the two of them, though neither noticed the way it tickled at the corners of their minds, too lost in each other to feel the click as everything settled into place. 

It was a fragile and easily broken thing, but given the right circumstances, it had the capacity forge something breathtaking.

Or terrible.  

* * *

When Pidge woke to find Lance facing down the lizard-like woman, she thought perhaps she was going into shock from the wound in her shoulder. So she blinked to try and erase him from her vision because there was no way he could be _here_. But when her eyes opened again, he was still there, eyes fiery like the pits of Hell as he glared at his foe. His chest was heaving beneath his armour. 

She felt it, too, this overwhelmingly, utterly catastrophic, fury that was siphoning through his entire body, setting Pidge's own on fire. He burned, and she burned with him.

Lance spoke, voice like lighting, sharp and cutting as he settled his gaze on the Galra holding Pidge.

_"You hurt one of our own—"_

*

 _"And for that you must pay,"_ Hunk's voice trembled, cracked and burned its way up his throat as he approached the door he knew would break him. He had no idea where those words had come from, had only felt them on his tongue suddenly out of no where, as if he were reciting someone else's script. His lungs pushed painfully against his ribs as he forced the air inside of himself, if only to give him what he needed to keep his body alive. To stay alive, so he could potentially end someone else's.  

He felt a fury that was not only his burn inside him. 

It twirled around his own rage that had been steadily building like two twin flames dancing together in unison: one golden, the other blue. They twisted tighter and tighter around each other, hot and deadly. Eager for blood.

 _Kill._  

Hunk opened the door. And the gold burned fiercer, drying up his very blood and leaving him empty as he turned just at the right moment to catch the lithe Galra woman by the throat as she launched herself at him.

The words burned inside his throat again. 

_"Meet the face of your judgement—"_

*

 _"And tremble,"_ Allura hissed through her teeth, driving her controls harshly forwards as she approached Yellow's location, who was now at a standstill. The words had come out of her mouth, but they weren't hers, not at all. They felt wrong, and didn't quite sit right with her. They flickered like flames over her tongue, burning, as something terrible built up inside her.

She wasn't afraid of it, though. She recognised what she was feeling, and was even perhaps a little relieved to feel this familiar presence burn inside her again. It felt different, fiercer, wilder, unpredictable; but it was still the same.

_Kill._

It drove her forwards, more foreign words on her tongue as her lion roared with her.

_"Look me in the eye and tell me it was worth it—"_

*

 _"This path you chose to stand against us,"_ Keith snarled, his breath hot as it left him in a rush. Something inside him wanted to purr at the way these strange words forced their way out of him, because he  _recognised_ this new and consuming thing writhing inside of him. It was everything he'd ever wanted for the last eighteen days, to feel himself being wrapped around this other thing within him, to be knitted, folded, tied and tangled together. It was blood thirsty—this new thing that came to life. He wasn't afraid of it, though, because of  _who_ it was. 

When he blinked his vision flashed gold for a moment. But he blinked again and it was gone. 

There was a voice behind him before, but it had stopped now, even as Keith drove his controls forwards, in the opposite direction. The only thing in his head was blue fire—and gold, and pink—scorching his skin from the inside out as it carried him onward. 

_Kill._

At the end of this road, there would be blood spilled. 

Keith spoke again. It felt like fire.

_"For it will surely be your final regret—"_

*

 _"Now fear us,_ " Shiro forced out, confused about where these strange scolding words were coming from. He didn't stop them though, as he felt something familiar click into place. He closed his eyes and saw the colours blue, yellow, pink and red behind his eyes. 

And his hand dropped from Keith's shoulder. 

As his blood roared hot beneath his skin. 

 _Kill_. 

He allowed the flames inside his mouth once more. 

_"For our mercy—"_

*

 _"Has long since expired,"_ Pidge whispered into the room at the same time Lance met her eye, his own mouth moving with the exact some words. Her cheeks were flush with a heat she hadn't woken up with and suddenly the hands around her were like ice against her skin. She wanted to burn it away.

_Kill._

More words singed the back of her throat. 

" _Now burn_." 

*

In the same instant Lance threw his bayard—                  

                              Hunk squeezed his fists around the Galra's throat.

In the same instant Allura launched herself out of her lion towards the Galra standing guard—

                               Keith crossed the boarder between countries, claws digging into his flesh as they grew. 

In the same instant Shiro's Galra arm activated in anticipation of the bloodshed to come, a Gladiator once more—

                              Pidge's hands thrust up to stab her fingers into the Galra's wide eyes. 

* * *

The thing about Voltron was that it wasn't just a weapon.

Its greatest strength wasn't the lions, the lasers, the shield or the sword. In fact, when it came down to it, there were no real physical advantages in Voltron. It was no different to that of a normal weapon.

There was no strength in Voltron without its Paladins.

There was no power without its Paladins.

There was no _Voltron_ without its Paladins.

Voltron wasn't strongest when fully formed, that was all for show. Its true virtue wasn't at all visible to the naked eye. It was something that could only be felt within, inside and beneath the surface of each of the Paladins. It was the ability to feel each other so wholly, to be so infinitely connected, as if there was no beginning or end between one and the other, and become one single collective being. To allow one mind to bleed into another, again and again, until red and blue became purple. Until yellow and blue became green. Until red and purple became pink, and so on.

Voltron wasn't merely a weapon.

It was a tool, to bind, connect and forge an understanding between beings of opposites.

The point of Voltron was never to attack and destroy, it was to reach a harmony between universal opposites. To breathe with your rival's lungs and see through the eyes of the one you fear the most. To feel each other's fears, all their hopes, their desires, their love, their trust and their very _soul_ , as if it were your own.

To share a heart and just—

Accept.

And be.

Together. 

Unfortunately for Voltron's Paladins, there was nothing more binding than pain, as they soon found out.

* * *

In the moment Voltron truly became one, someone took their final breath and a Prince turned to see the silhouette of a lion heading straight for him.  

And the universe shook. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> That night with Lance was always meant to be obscured to reveal what it really meant both literally and metaphorically later on. Bonding moment round two!! 
> 
> I think I rekindled my writing spark again. 
> 
> Also I wonder who died. ?? 
> 
> Also I encourage you to comment. Please don't ever hesitate. I'm literally the most humiliating person I know so don't feel shy. I'm also just hungry for crit and feedback. 
> 
> Love you all!! xoxoxo


	17. Thirty-One + 18: Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the games begin. Lance and Pidge fight for their lives, with interesting developments. A good idea turns into something not quite as good. Lotor is a dick, as usual.

The moment Lance's bayard left his hand the Galra General dove forwards, ducking low and swiping her tail out towards him with deadly force. The edge of his bayard caught her on the shoulder the same time Lance slipped out of the way of that tail, however, it still caught him across the face sending his neck whipping to the side with a crack. He saw white flash behind his eyes and potentially felt his cheek actually cave in this time. He couldn't tell, his face went blessedly numb a second after he was nearly blinded with pain. 

Lance staggered, and so did she. Though, neither of them fell. 

On his left, he heard the sound of someone screaming and he instantly panicked, only one word inside his head. 

_Pidge._

When he realised _Acxa_ was the one screaming while Pidge's fingers dug into her eyes painfully hard, his heart settled back into place. Before he could relax too much, however, the lizard-like lady was lurching for him again and he immediately willed his bayard back into his hand, where it vanished from its place imbedded in the opposite wall and flashed again between his palms. Just as she spun to deliver a kick to his already half smashed face, he met her with his staff, feeling the moment the electricity shocked her through the jerk in her upraised leg. His arms shuddered upon the impact, hands fighting for all their worth to keep ahold of his weapon. 

She lurched back without a sound. Lance could see the awkward way she held the leg he'd managed to hit and felt unreasonably pleased with himself. In the corner of his eye he noticed Acxa had somehow freed her eyes from Pidge's fingers and was now pinning the other girl to the ground, blood and tears running down her cheeks, dotting Pidge's Paladin armour with red. It had Lance's anger spiking dangerously high to see her pinned like that and he shot forward across the room and swiped his staff mercilessly into the Glara's face, catching her completely off guard as she shouted out and fell to the side, freeing Pidge. 

Behind the hand Acxa held to her face Lance could see a deep gash running along the side of her head, across her cheek and down to her chin. He saw the flesh peeling away and shuddered, saw the way it fell limply and revealed a flash of bone beneath. Acxa's eyes were wide with shock as she lay sideways on the floor and Pidge was pulling herself quickly to her feet, her hand nursing the wound at her shoulder. 

The lizard woman did not move. 

Her face was angled towards them and her stance was low and crouched, ready to spring. But she didn't. Pidge's own bayard activated and Lance was surprised to see it transform into something completely different. It wrapped around her hand as two thin twin blades stretched out from it over top of her knuckles. Lance couldn't help the sudden laugh that bubbled out of him.

"Wolverine, huh?"

She didn't reply, but he saw a faint smirk split her pale face, wobbly as it was.

Suddenly, a mere second later, the lizard woman was lurching forwards again, straight for Lance, clawed hands reaching blindly for his throat. He jumped sideways at the same time Pidge did, both splitting off in opposite directions as she landed in the middle. His staff swung towards her head as Pidge's bayard shot forwards on a line and imbedded itself into the Glara's back, the twin blades curving into her flesh like a hook. However, her upraised arm managed to deflect Lance's hit and sent the staff tumbling out of his weak hands, which were flaring with pain, spasming and cramping. It skidded across the room and beneath the bed, where he could see Pidge's mother watching them with wide eyes. 

Pidge yanked back hard on her bayard, forcing their foe to stumble, however, that tail caught her before she fell. It righted the Glara up again. She was doing that thing again with her head, cocking it to the side like she was listening for something, her tongue darting out like a snake every few seconds. It grabbed Lance's curiosity. Why was she doing that? Pausing, waiting, listening. It was like she was relying on her other senses to fight with. But that didn't make sense. She had no eyes, sure, but in the past she had been able to see perfectly fine, especially when she decided to graciously shoot at him with a crossbow and jabbed that cursed capsule inside of him. 

So then why was she now relying on her ears? She'd shot at him when he entered, then that cat had attacked him. 

Unless—

The cat! 

The cat was her eyes. 

So, she  _was_ completely blind right now, which gave them an advantage, though the left side of his face was disagreeing entirely with that sentiment. Incapacitated, but still deadly.  

Just as Lance saw Pidge's mouth open to say something he held up a hand, gesturing for her to keep quiet by zipping his fingers across his lips. Her mouth snapped shut in an instant, eyes flashing with understanding, and instead yanked again on the grappling claws in the Galra's back. It was clear, by the way she angled her body, slightly towards Lance, but not completely with her back to Pidge, that she knew generally where the two of them were, but it wasn't until they made a noise that she could pin the exact position. They had to keep quiet, attack with soft feet and gritted teeth to keep her at the disadvantage. 

Out of nowhere, Lance's legs were being swept from under him as Acxa pulled herself together with a growl, though her eyes were still wide with and incomprehensible. The sound of him clattering to the floor was enough for the other Galra, and a moment later she was snapping forwards, a hand reaching out for him again as he crawled backwards on his ass to try and stay out of reach. Pidge tried to yank back with her bayard but she was only pulled forwards with a startled shout by the weight of the Glara. That shout was all it took for her to swipe her tail backwards and catch Pidge in the ribs. She hit the floor with a thud. When Lance came up against the back of the bed he tried to get his feet under him, but a large, clawed hand was at his throat, digging in harshly between the muscles and tendons beneath his skin.

It was cold like a snake's skin was, scaly and terrifying. 

It just made him mad. 

He saw Pidge go to call out for his name while she tried to pull herself to her feet, but Lance held up a hand again with hard eyes. His other hand strayed under the bed, feeling his bayard re-materialise between his shaking fingers again. Acxa, still sprawled out on the ground beside them, called out, "Do it now, Narti! He won't stop!" 

 _Damn right I won't stop_ , Lance thought viciously while he raised his free hand to close around the Galra's own throat, squeezing tight, just as she was. He wasn't going to let her get away completely unscathed. Unsurprisingly, she still didn't make a noise when he closed off her airway. Lance looked dead into her face, leaning in close, which only served to put even more pressure on his suffocating throat, but he wanted her to feel him there, close and threatening—to know he was watching her. Her thighs were secured mercilessly around his, keeping him pinned to the floor, his back aching as it was pressed into the wooden bed frame. He saw trails of blood still dripping down over the white sheets and onto the floor from the dead body beside him. It had his hand squeezing impossibly tighter around her throat. 

She may have him immobilised, but both of them were choking—both gasping for air through their quickly collapsing throats. 

" _Narti!_ " Acxa called again, her voice thin and desperate. 

Narti's tail whacked against the ground, and behind her, Pidge was still trying to yank her back with her grappling hooks, her feet digging hard into the floorboards, but to no avail. Narti was simply too big for the small girl. She was hopelessly out balanced.  

Pidge's mother was screaming and thrashing against her restraints, her eyes trained on her daughter and sometimes even flicking over to Lance. Acxa had picked herself up and was lunging for Pidge now, who rolled swiftly out of the way, a hand still held up to her bleeding shoulder, still trying desperately to pull Narti away from Lance. Lance wanted to scream at her to let go, to free her mother and get out of here, but he knew it was a hopeless endeavour. He couldn't get a single word out, and Pidge wouldn't leave him, she was just that kind of person.  

This was too close for him— _Narti_ was too close—he couldn't read the situation when it was on top of him like this, crowding him, overwhelming him, immobilising him. He had no room to move and reposition the playing field how he needed. This wasn't at all his territory. Keith had been trying to teach him how to fight in these situations, up close, but Lance had always been a slow learner—thorough—but still slow. Amid having his throat crushed he tried to recall what Keith had taught him about grappling, but it all slipped through his fingers like sand. 

Acxa was still shouting at Narti, but the Galra was just looming unmovingly over Lance as they continued to squeeze each other's throats. Lance was gasping for air by now, felt the way his heartbeat clattered inside his ears as he fought to remain conscious. Pins and needles broke out over his entire body, too, which only served to make him panic even more. He needed—

He needed—

_He needed—_

He needed Keith. His fast thinking, his impulses, his swiftness, his certainty. That unwillingness to give up or hesitate, to just act and allow his body to carry him seamlessly through. Keith could get out of this situation, Lance knew. He could feel Keith there, along with the rest of them—even _Shiro,_ somehow—all at the back of his mind, waiting, feeling him in return, and each other. When his vision began to cloud over, he allowed it to, so he could sink further inside his mind and entangle himself in the sensation red, pink, yellow, green and purple. He felt them brush over him like ghosts inside his mind, leaned back into their reaching fingers. 

Once he felt them all around him, he reached out for one in particular, fingers outstretched. He felt someone reach for them.  

 _Keith,_ he whispered inside of himself.

The colour red bloomed behind his eyes, which had now closed, as he struggled draw in one more strangled breath. It shuddered inside his burning lungs. He heard something answer him. 

 _Lance,_  they said. _LanceLanceLanceLancelancelancelance._

Just his name, continuous, like a heartbeat.   

The red behind his eyes seemed to flare when he tried to take another breath, but couldn't reach a single bit of air. It felt furious. He felt his hand slip away from Narti's throat, numb now, and she seemed a whole lot less affected by the entire ordeal. _Unfair. Glara perks._ Then the red pulsed. And Lance felt it begin to bleed through his body, starting from his mind, where it oozed down his spine, through his chest, inside his heart and lungs, following the line of his arms and into his hands. It bled into his legs as well. It filled him completely, hot and electrifying. 

 _"Lance,"_ Keith whispered, but it came from Lance's own mouth. Narti cocked her head curiously. Then within him, again: 

_Lance. It's okay. Just leave it to me._

*

When Keith opened his eyes, it wasn't the Black Lion's cockpit that greeted him, but a blank face looming over top of him as a hand closed mercilessly tight around his throat. There was shouting behind her, one of those voices belonging to Pidge, and the other to the Galra who he'd nearly killed after Lance died. But it wasn't her he was interested in. 

When his hand— _Lance's_ hand—closed around his old bayard, he felt it shift into the familiar weapon he'd grown so accustom to. The blank face seemed to peer closer at him, even without eyes. 

"You are no longer blue," her automated voice came out, dull and lifeless, like a GPS. "Where did you come from?"

Her hand had loosened, and from behind it, he spoke, in that achingly familiar voice he'd come to memorise as clearly as the sky. "From your worst nightmare." 

He lunged. 

*

Lance was surprised when he opened his eyes and was immediately flooded by the colour purple. He was even more surprised when he heard Shiro's voice behind him, hard and stiff as he leaned down to say something in Lance's ear.

"Keith," he worried through tense lips. "Are you okay? You dropped out there for a second."

Belatedly, Lance realised Shiro's Galra arm was activated, humming with energy right next to his ear. It made him shiver.

Then it hit him.

 _Keith._ Not Lance.  _Keith._

Lance looked down at his hands spread out on Black's controls and recoiled. Red. He was wearing red armour—Keith's armour. He recalled the moments just before. Recalled the sensation of the colour red bleeding into his entire body, the feeling of falling, and falling and falling, until there was nothing. Until he ended up  _here,_ in the Black Lion, inside Keith. 

 _What the actual flying FUCK?_ was the first thing that went through his mind. Then:  _I don't want a **mullet**. _

" _Keith,"_ came Shiro's voice again, and then a hand was dropping down on his shoulder, squeezing tight.

Feeling irrational and jumpy after everything that had just happened, Lance flinched back away from it and snapped, " _Don't touch him_." He didn't mean for that to come out as possessive as it did, and felt humiliation wash over him when he looked up to see Shiro's bewildered, and hurt, expression. Lance could somehow _feel_ the hurt inside of him, too, and wondered how, seeing as Shiro was technically no longer a Paladin. Screwing his face up, Lance glanced away and mumbled. " _Me._ Don't touch  _me,_ " he tried correcting, hoping Shiro would just ignore it and write it off as typical unexplainable Keith behaviour. "And I'm fine." 

Either Shiro believed him or decided to leave it. "Good," he said, turning back to Black's screens. For the first time, Lance realised the lion was still, apparently landed. "Because I'm still going along with your plan."

_His plan?_

Keith didn't have plans, he had poorly made decisions that sometimes worked out for the best 52.364% of the time, if they were going by Slav's estimates. Lance was immediately worried. 

His worry sky-rocketed beyond all conceivable dimensions when he saw where they were. And he felt his breath crudely stolen from him when he laid eyes on the familiar shore line—pale sand, crystal-blue water and the endlessly stunning late afternoon sun. It hit him like a slap in the face and he jerked violently back in his chair. Shiro, of course, noticed this and his dark gaze shot back to Lance suspiciously. 

"Keith?" he asked. Lance's mouth fell open, but no words came out. "Keith, what's wrong? Voltron, the others, can you feel them again? I can only get bits and pieces. Are they okay?" Still nothing. " _Hey,_ what's wrong with you?" 

"Shiro," Lance croaked out, Keith's voice strange and foreign on his (not really) tongue. He licked his dry lips. He couldn't hold up a front anymore, not when he was faced with _this_. "Shiro, what are you guys _doing here_? What the fuck is going on?" 

He met Shiro's narrow gaze again, who was now crouching down by Lance in the pilot's seat and reaching out a hand to take his chin between his fingers. Lance couldn't read his expression as he peered into his eyes for several long, long moments. Wasn't sure he wanted to. Then Shiro's eyes widened, the scar across nose pulling tight. 

 _"Lance?"_ he breathed, astonished. "How? Wha—"

"Shiro," his voice shook as he struggled to keep himself together. "What are you doing here?" 

Shiro pulled his hand back, eyes falling back into his serious, steady expression, though his lips were a taught line across his face. "Keith was suspcious, when Hunk ran off—"

"Hunk ran off?" Lance blanched. 

Shiro nodded regretfully. "He thought that this was bigger than just Pidge. He was suspicious, that if Lotor had been stuck here on Earth the last little while, that he might have gotten up to no good. So, when Hunk went silent he changed course and came here instead. He was afraid that Lotor would..." Shiro's head dropped between his broad shoulders and Lance heard the way he was grinding his teeth harshly together. 

Lance's heart dropped to the floor, his entire body going cold. He couldn't feel the breath in his lungs, nor the air around him. "That he'd come after my family as well. He wasn't just trying to hurt one of us—" 

"He was trying to hurt us all. Specifically the three of you. So, Keith came here, to protect your family when you couldn't. I don't know how he knew where to go, but he did. I'm guessing you must have told him at some point."

"I never told him anything. There was no way he'd know to come here. Unless..."

Unless he'd felt it through Voltron. When their minds interlocked suddenly after Pidge's pain cut through them all, when they all clicked into one, somehow Keith must have delved into Lance's mind at one point to know where to go. 

" _Fuck_ ," Lance suddenly sobbed, his body slumping forwards over the controls. "Fuck. Lotor said this would happen. He warned me." 

"Lance," Shiro said carefully, dragging a hand up to his shoulder. "None of this is your fault."

"Of course it is. I pissed Lotor off by not dying, at least not staying dead, and when he was trapped on Earth he took up the opportunity to get back at us all. It was the perfect chance for him, and now they're all suffering—Pidge, Hunk, and now my family. All because of me."

Suddenly Shiro's Galra hand was gripping Lance's chin harshly between his gloved fingers again, thankfully powered down now. "Doesn't matter. I don't know how you're here right now. But Lotor is _out there._ Keith came here to stop him. But seeing as you're here and he's...elsewhere. It's your job now. It's our job." 

Lance felt the words filter into his body, pulling him upright to meet Shiro's eyes again. He still felt ready to fall apart, but he managed a small nod. When he clenched his hands together into fists he winced when ten sets of thin claws dug into his palms, drawing blood.

_Claws?_

*

The sound of the Galra's woman's face crunching under his fist was music to his ears as Keith went to swing his sword at her side at the same time. She slipped away nimbly, blind, but apparently excellent at hearing, even if it was just the whistle of his blade through the air. Compared to Keith's own body, Lance's was slow and sluggish, as he felt the toll of his slowly healing body crash down upon him. His legs felt like lead, and it was hard to catch his breath, ribs feeling too tight for his lungs, even with the Galra's hands gone from his throat. Worst of all were the hands, shuddering around Keith's concentrated grip on his bayard. 

It was hard to work with, but it was all he had. 

With a snarl, he rushed forwards towards the Galra and threw all his strength into thrusting the sword at her again. He realised his mistake when her head twitched towards him and her body swivelled to slam that massive tail into his side. He shouted as something clicked out of place, most likely a rib. The force sent him sprawling across the room and he said a silent apology to Lance as he collected at least five bruises when he slammed into the opposite wall.

So, he had to shut up when he fought her. A conundrum, but not impossible.

As he rose to his feet again he noticed Pidge grappling with the other Glara, her bayard, which had been hooked into the lizard-like one, now retracting with a clink. 

"Just keep your attention on the other one," Keith instructed hoarsely in Lance's voice. "Leave this bitch to me." He knew he'd just given away his location, but so long as he kept the his foe away from her it was fine. His priority was Pidge, even if it was Lance's body he wore. Keith understood Lance would be the first one to sacrifice himself for her, and he'd respect that. It didn't matter how much he l—

 _Nope!_ Now was not the time for that. 

Pidge nodded at him, understanding written in the calculating glint of her eyes. 

Everyone paused for a split second as they faced each other off. They were all bleeding from at least one part of their body, Keith cringing when he saw the skin flopping terribly away from the other General's face. Blood was splattering everywhere around her, red, just like he remembered, and she swayed on her feet. Keith had no doubts that Pidge would be able to take her down with her face that way, even with the wound on her shoulder. 

They could do this. 

Keith just prayed he wouldn't break Lance's body in the meantime. 

Hauling his familiar bayard in front of him defensively, Keith glared at the Galra General. She was spread low to the ground, legs bent and her arms held before her as she listened for Keith's movements.

"Narti, what are you waiting for?" the other Galra hissed, her face looking panicked. 

Narti didn't seem interested in her comrade's pleas, and simply kept her head trained on Keith's direction. Sensing an attack was imminent, Keith sprung first, slashing out with his sword. He made sure to step quietly this time and clench his teeth together to prevent him from making any noise on his approach. However, she still could react with frighteningly fast reflexes, leaping surefooted over the top of Keith and landing in a crouch behind him. Keith stumbled, feeling the new injuries he'd collected really starting to take a toll on Lance's old ones. He felt like a spring stuffed into a too-tight box, all this energy coiling tight inside him but with no means to expel it inside Lance's quickly tiring body. He needed to be faster, but he couldn't.

_He couldn't._

And the slight lag in his body was all it took before the Glara was reaching out a single clawed finger and touching it to the base of his neck, just above where Lance's under-suit cut off.

It felt like someone had put a block of ice at the nape of his neck, and it had his entire body locking up, rendering him terrifyingly motionless. Then the rest of her hand slipped around his neck, cold and rough against his skin, and he felt the prick of cold grow, tendrils seeping from that point and crawling through his entire body. He felt them creeping the rest of the way up his neck towards his head, painful, and terrifying. Straight towards his brain. He wanted to thrash against it, to turn around and jam his sword down her throat, but his body wouldn't move and his bayard slipped from between his fingers and clattered to the floor.

It might as well have been his heart shattering on the floor.  

_No._

_This can't be happening. Lance trusted me with this._

_I can't fail him._

_HE TRUSTED ME._

Keith heard Pidge calling Lance's name, could see her crouched over top of the fallen Galra, who seemed to have finally succumb to her wounds. Pidge's bayard was lodged deep inside her back to keep her where she was, though, not taking any risks. 

Then suddenly, he felt himself being pulled from this body by invisible hands. It felt like someone was pulling the skin from his body, and if he could have, he would have screamed. It hurt so much. He was being torn out, then thrown away. 

_Please, no._

Ripped—

Thrown—

And he fell. 

            And fell.

                     And 

                            f 

                              e

                                 l

                                   l

                                   .

                                   . 

                                   .

*

Just as they exited the Black Lion, Keith— _Lance—_ collapsed bodily onto the ground. Just crumpled like a rag-doll with a heavy thud as he smacked into sand, face first.

Shiro shouted, going down on his knees to take Keith's fallen form in his arms. He tried calling for both Lance and Keith, depending on who was in there right now, but there was no response. His human hand felt desperately for a pulse, sighed when he found it, and then he tried slapping the same hand gently against the boy's slack face. His hair fell in inky waves away from his forehead as he bowed backwards over Shiro's knee, eyelids practically purple from sleep deprivation and endless rubbing.

Shiro didn't know what to do. Out here, they were exposed, vulnerable to Lotor, wherever he was hiding. But Black had raised her particle barrier, and with Keith unconscious, there was no way Shiro could get those shields down. Not with their bond the way it was. 

Luckily enough, however, the weight in his hands began to stir, and Shiro looked down to see those tired eyelids flutter open, dark eyes peeping through. By the way his eyebrows immediately creased together, he knew it was Keith inside his body this time. Only Keith could pull off such an awful expression two seconds after waking up.

Before Shiro could speak, a broken noise escaped the boy as he held up a clenched fist against his mouth, biting down hard on it. It sounded like he'd just had his heart torn from his body. When he spoke, his voice came out muffled around his hand.

" _No,_ " he choked. "No, please no. No no no no no. I can't be here. That means he's—" he broke off with a huge shaking breath. Shiro could hear the way it rattled inside his lungs and against his ribs, like loose stones. 

"Shhh," Shiro soothed, running a hand through Keith's hair. Gestures like this had always made him slightly uncomfortable before Keith had moved on from him, always worried that he'd take it the wrong way. Keith had a strange fixation on touch, the way he reacted to it, could be...intense and obsessive. "Tell me what happened."

Keith's body was shuddering with restrained sobs between Shiro's palms, like they were all being deflected back inside him and were slowly tearing him apart. "Lance's body, I wasn't ready for it to be so...hurt, and slow, and the Galra, sh—she's taken it." 

Shiro felt his face drain of colour. "What do you mean?" 

"All I ever do is hurt him. All I do is fail him," Keith whispered, his eyes turning watery. When he blinked trails of tears dripped down the sides of his face, over his ears and into his hair. "Now he's back there. He trusted me with his body and now I've condemned him to his worst nightmare. I'm useless."

"Keith, that's not true," Shiro insisted, leaning closer, as if he could hide him from the rest of the this cruel and terrible universe. 

Keith blinked slowly, his wet lashes catching on his skin. The golden glow of the dimming sky cast an array of patterns over Keith's tired face and Shiro could see the way the sun practically lit up his eyes like fireballs. Very quietly, he said, "I hate myself." 

" _Don't,_ " Shiro begged. 

"I do." 

"Stop saying that. You didn't fail anyone." 

"I did. It's the only thing I ever do." 

Shiro was about to reply, or cry, he wasn't sure, but then another voice cut him off, sharp, like a bullet through the chest.

"What a devastating scene we have here. Really, if I didn't loathe the two of you so much I might just feel bad enough to let you go. Unfortunately, circumstances have misaligned for you today."

Shiro felt Keith deathly still beneath his hands.

When he looked up, he met Lotor's Hellish eyes for the first time.

His Galra arm lit up again, practically hissing as Shiro held it out in from of him and Keith defensively. However, when he noticed what—or rather,  _who—_ was inside Lotor's arms he paused. 

The first thought that went through his head was:  _Lance?_ No, this is a girl, but definitely related to Lance. The resemblance was uncanny. The shimmering brown skin, long limbs, deep blue eyes and pointed nose. She'd be beautiful if it weren't for all the injuries on her face.   

Then:  _We're too late._

"I know you must have been thinking that I was here for dear Blue, and I am, in a sense, but the only ones I need here right now is you two. You see the mistake I made before was trying to break him _first,_ but then I realised that's hard to do when he has such wonderful friends. Compliments to the both of you, but mostly big Yellow. So, I reconfigured everything, gave it some thought, and decided it was his friends I needed to break first. Then he'll be alone." he smirked, walking forwards with a powerful gait. "Dear blue's suffering will come later, I assure you." 

"If you hurt her—" Keith snarled, quickly pulling himself to his feet, so swift that he almost head butted Shiro in the chin. 

Lotor shook his head with a chuckle, and it had Lance's sister whimpering behind her bloody nose and mouth. "Oh, I won't lay a finger on her, at least not anymore." Suddenly, he dropped her by his feet and she cried out as she smacked into the sand, her hands failing at catching herself before her nose met the ground. The sand may be soft, but the rocks beneath it weren't. Shiro's blood turned poisonous, and he rose to his feet, glaring hatefully at the Prince. Using his foot, Lotor rolled her towards him and Keith. Neither of them moved, acutely aware of the Prince's tendency to mess with their minds.

His smirk broadened, eyes locking with Shiro's. "I'll leave that to you, _Champion_."

Before Shiro could respond Lotor added, "That arm of yours, it's a pretty remarkable weapon. The druids _are_ remarkable biological engineers, after all, so it's easy to see how you became such a big name in the Gladiator ring. Of course, you're only using half its potential. So how about it, _don't you miss Earth_?"

Something about those words struck a bell so loud in Shiro's head that it was all he could hear, even as Keith's mouth was moving in front of him, saying... _something._ His eyes were wide and frantic. Frightened and angry. Confused and desperate. The girl by their feet was trying desperately to crawl towards them, blood and water dripping down her face and leaving a trail behind on the white sand. The sight of it had Shiro enraptured. The red, so stark against the whiteness.  

He wondered what it would look like if all her blood was staining the sand like that.

There was a hand at his shoulder, shaking.

Shiro looked at it. It was red, too, against black and white. He looked up to the face it belonged to, which was black and white.

Somehow, through the ringing in his ears, Shiro heard Lotor's words once more. Loud and clear.

" _Don't you want to go home?_ "

Shiro nodded.  _Take me home._

" _So, wake up_."

Then his Galra arm was hissing alive again, burning against where his skin the metal met, and beyond that, sizzling through his entire body. Until the arm was lifting—

Then slicing straight towards the black and white face before him. 

_The Champion had returned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> The house is always cold. Why do my parents always keep it at -333838830 degrees all the time? 
> 
> Anyway, hope this chapter doesn't break too many hearts. I promise I'm only a little evil, the rest is for character development (she claims). 
> 
> Next time: Hunk and Allura reach out to Pidge. And Pidge to Hunk and Allura. Shiro and the rest just suffer.


	18. Thirty-One + 18: Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge watches, helpless. Keith feels, hopeless. Everything is is red and white. 
> 
> Ended up altering this chapter from what I intended. It get's pretty awful, so a warning if blood makes you uncomfortable.

Trapped inside his own body, a cruel and awful irony, Lance could do nothing but watch as Pidge scrambled away from her place on top of Acxa and against the opposite wall. Her eyes wide and horrified as his body slowly, stiffly, was forced to its knees, that pressure on the back of his neck not loosening. He was lowered and pressed all the way to the ground, still able to feel the pain of his cheek being forced against the carpet, crushing it even more. He wished he could have screamed out loud as he was laid flat and a knee pressed into the centre of his back. He banged against the walls, but the no avail. So long as her hand remained where it was he wasn't escaping anytime soon. 

_Let me out, you slithery bitch!_

He heard Narti say, in that monotone voice, "It is done. Blue is secured."

"Good," came that familiar voice the haunted Lance's nightmares. He wished he could have squeezed his eyes against it. Covered his ears or screamed at the top of his lungs. "Because things are getting fairly interesting over here. Bring dear Blue immediately and allow Acxa to dispose of little Green."

"Acxa is down, sir."

"Oh dear, another conundrum. Will they ever stop? Oh well, leave her be and see what happens. I need dear Blue here, now. I have something I want him to see." 

"Of course, Prince." 

Lance had felt dread many times since joining Voltron, but never more so than what he felt now. 

* * *

"Shiro—" 

Keith never finished what he was going to say, because a moment later something glowing and scorching-hot was catching him by the throat and throwing him sideways, head first straight to the ground. His mouth opened as he cried out and thus received painful mouthful of sand, which grated and scratched up the inside of his throat when he swallowed. His brain felt like it had been squeezed up to one side of his head as he pushed himself shakily to his hands.

His throat was burning and he could feel the imprint of a hand scarring his skin, turning it red and ugly. 

Instantly, Shiro was on him again—Keith could tell by the horrific mechanical whoosh of his arm as it came flying towards him—and he leapt forwards with a roll, narrowly missing having his neck half sliced off. He landed in a crouch and twisted around, reaching a hand down for his— _Shiro's—_ bayard. When it flashed inside his palm he allowed his mind to visualise his sword. Saw the way the blade arched out and the familiar weight of the hilt inside his fingers. He waited for it to happen. 

Nothing  _happened._

_What the fuck?_

In the middle of his shock, faster than Keith had ever seen him move, Shiro lunged, his eyes a Hellish gold and mouth pulled back into a snarl. His metal hand sprung out once again, catching Keith's face in a brutal hit. It sent Keith's neck snapping to the side and he felt the skin instantly start to burn and bubble the moment Shiro's hand pulled back. Then his leg caught Keith in his middle, forcing the breath wretchedly out of his lungs in a painful cough. He went to his knees, head hanging limply between his shoulders while he watched the splatter of blood from his new wounds dot the white sand beneath him like rain. 

He heard Lotor's nightmarish laugh echoing inside his ears, and thought of death.

Smelt the salty tang of seawater in the air, and thought of Lance. It was a pleasanter thought. 

Dully, he was aware of Shiro having paused over him, his shadow swallowing up Keith's shaking form. Back when the two of them sparred he and Shiro had always been somewhat evenly matched, Keith just a fraction faster and Shiro just a fraction stronger. Their sparring sessions would last sometimes for hours as they came together again and again, sword clanking and mechanic arm whirring. Shiro usually always _eventually_ won, but it was never without a challenge. 

This. This was _not_ like when they sparred. Shiro's speed was blinding, his strength, earth-shattering. An unbeatable enemy. It had only taken him a few seconds to have Keith on his knees, dizzy and unable to stand. 

He understood now why Shiro was named The Champion in the Gladiator ring. All this time, he'd been holding back on Keith, knowing what the full brunt of his power could do. Keith wondered if perhaps he was afraid of it.

He didn't have a hope in the world against _this_ Shiro. But it didn't mean he wasn't going to try. He wouldn't be _Keith_ if he didn't at least try, even a little bit.  

Shiro was still motionless above him. Keith, staring at his feet, could see the way his muscles twitched beneath his amour, as if he was holding himself back with extreme effort. And as Keith lifted his gaze, running his eyes over the rest of him, all the way to his face, he could see that same twitch shuddering through his entire body. He was practically vibrating with it. This unchecked power he was just barely keeping at bay. He realised, suddenly, that Shiro was waiting for Lotor to give him permission to finish the job, just as he would if he were in the Gladiator ring. 

_Fuck, Shiro, what have they done to you?_

Keith swallowed when he met Shiro's eyes, which were flat and yellow, no trace of those kind dark eyes from only minutes ago. No pupil, no iris'. Nothing.

Keith could see his right arm was risen, buzzing and glowing, ready to strike a killing blow to his throat. Ready to slice it open and allow Keith's blood to soak into the sand below. It was almost comforting, to know he would die at the hand of his dearest friend on the sand of his (lover's?) favourite place in the universe. It was poetic. However, the thought of leaving Shiro like this, at the mercy of Lotor's will, was unbearable, and, well, Keith was known for being exceptionally hot-headed and  _stubborn._ So why stop now? 

Using Shiro's hesitation to his advantage, Keith sprung up, landing a hit on his jaw and sending Shiro's chin flying upwards with a crack. It only slowed him for a second, though, before he was righting himself again and snarling into action, a furious storm coming straight for Keith.

Keith could duck out of the way of his outstretched arm again but it only served to make his head spin sickly. His stomach lurched into his throat then back down. He definitely had a concussion.  

"Shiro," he tried again, voice thick in his throat, and he skidded out of the way of another blow towards his neck. Shiro continued to drive him further and further towards the water, Keith struggling to keep himself clear of that deadly arm of his. "Please, you have to snap out of it. You're stronger than this." 

Shiro's face didn't so much as twitch with an ounce recognition. His eyes remained that terrifying gold and his mouth was twisted into a growl. He looked at Keith like he was nothing but prey. It was like he wasn't even looking at Shiro anymore; there was nothing familiar about this face. Not when it looked like this—so _terrifying_. 

Keith wondered how many innocent people had their lives ended with this face as their last memory. 

"Shiro!" he tried again, desperately, as he heard water sloshing against his boots behind him. "C'mon! This in't you! Wake up!" His voice cracked on the last word, splintering, and tearing up his already ragged throat. He heaved in deep, broken breaths as he tried to ignore the pain at his throat and across his cheek. It felt like the burns were eating their way into his bones. Every step he took further flared up the pain, sending white flashing across his vision. But he kept his focus on Shiro.

Who, in turn, kept his focus on Keith.

So long as it stayed that way he could keep Lance's sister out of harm's way, if Lance's suspicions on Lotor were true, that was.

Keith trusted Lance's suspicions. 

If he could just get his damn bayard to _work_ perhaps he could fight back. But as it was, the deadweight in his right hand was refusing to listen to him— _Black_ was refusing to listen to him. He felt the way the jagged bond continued to slice up his insides and begged for her to help him. But she was dormant on the other side, apparently content to let him die. It didn't surprise Keith, Allura had warned him of this possibility, but it did  _hurt._

He supposed he really _was_ always abandoned by those he needed most in the end. 

He was shocked at how much it surprised him. This utter  _betrayal._

Especially when Shiro's arm connected with him again, directly in the centre of his chest, cracking his armour and sending hot energy funnelling through his entire body. Gritting his teeth, Keith screamed against it while the power all but scorched his insides, felt as though it was liquifying everything and replacing it all with nothing but pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain. Endless pain.

Eventually, he gave up gritting his teeth and just outright screamed at the top of his lungs, even as Shiro pulled his arm away. Even as he fell forwards onto his knees in the water, feeling it splash against his sides. Even as he saw his blood begin to seep out of the jagged crack in his chest-plate and fall into the water. Even as he heard Lotor call out, "Finish him. Draw it out, too, if you will, Gladiator. Let the other Paladins feel his suffering." 

Even as Shiro's human hand reached down, took hold of Keith by the back of his neck, fingers digging in mercilessly tight, Keith didn't move. Couldn't. All he could feel was the crackle of energy inside him, right from his toes and to the backs of his eyes, rendering him motionless. Useless. Useless. Endlessly useless, that's all Keith ever was. 

With that final thought, Shiro's hand tightened on his nape and then thrust Keith's head down into the water. Keith didn't even have a chance the draw a breath, and instead only inhaled water as he gasped. It burned all the way down into his lungs, almost worse than the energy Shiro had shot through him only moments ago. The water was shallow, but it was deep enough that everything important was submerged. All too late his body finally decided to start moving again, automatically thrashing as the water continued to fill up his lungs, suffocating him, burning him, drowning him all at once. Keith tried using his arms to push himself up just enough to catch a breath but Shiro's grip was far too strong.

He just pressed Keith down even further, burying his face into the sand beneath. He could hear Lotor once again, laughing, always _laughing._  Could hear Lance's sister shouting. Could hear Shiro breathing harshly as he leaned down close, watching Keith through the water, waiting for him to die.

Dying.

Keith was dying now.

He could feel it in the way his lungs screamed for air, like a fire inside his chest, ready to burst at any moment. Felt it in the way his brain began to feel light as air. Felt it in the way his body slowly began to stop thrashing.

Felt it in the way his consciousness finally slipped free from under him, and sent him tumbling down in the depths of—

              

             N O T H I N G.

*

Simultaneously—as Allura's bayard lashed out, as Hunk received a foot in the gut, as Pidge crawled helplessly towards her mother, and as Lance clawed desperately against the walls of his own mind—they all had their breath ripped from them as they felt one of their own draw their last, watery one.

Lance tasted the familiar salt inside his own mouth and screamed, though it only ricocheted inside his own mind.     

* * *

Inside nothing, there was only memory.  

Bits and pieces of it, really. 

Keith saw it like pieces of glass being tossed around a dark room. He saw a flash of his father's face, the last time he saw it, as he walked out that door the morning of Keith's 10th birthday. He saw his dagger, in his hands, as it always was. He felt the same longing seeing it now as he did back then. He saw Shiro's face, in a million different ways. He saw them all. He saw the way his right hand outstretched towards Keith the first time they met, when Keith was thirteen and suffocatingly lonely. He saw the flash of his hands upon the simulator's controls, the one place he'd felt even somewhat at home. Felt the thrilling beat of his heart. 

He saw Lance's hands upon that rifle the first time they met, felt the same flutter of his heart and heard the same beat of his blood inside his ears when he turned to face Keith—with that  _smile._ That smile that he every so often still offered up to Keith, like it was something infinitely precious that only a sparse few ever got to witness. And he saw his hands on Lance's skin, pale and stark against the brown they slipped and glided smoothly over top of. 

After Hunk's grin, Pidge's smirk, Allura's eyes and Coran's kindness flashed by him, all that followed was the colour purple.

Nothing but purple.

It rained down, swallowed, clutched, pulled and consumed him. 

It was familiar. 

It was the first colour he'd ever seen in his life. A memory that had long since been forgotten; banished with the rest of all those early memories. 

Purple was the colour of his mother, as she took him in her arms for the first time. Warmth surrounded him like the colour purple. 

He saw her eyes—

They were purple and filled with love, and—

Heartbreak, as another set of hands, the colour white, tore him away from her. 

 _No,_ Keith begged.  _Take me back! Don't leave me! Not again! Stay with me!_

She was crying, watching helplessly as these new hands continued to pull him further and further away. 

_Mum._

_My mum,_

_my mother,_

_my mama,_

_my mommy,_

_Stay!_

_I can't do this again._

_Don't._

_No._

_Stop!_

_STOP._

_CAN'T EVERYTHING JUST STOP?_

_I need._

_I need to breathe._

 

\--Silence--

 

Then .. 

              ..

                   ..

 

_"Keith."_

Lance?

_"You need to let go."_

Shiro?

 _"If I let go, I'll die,"_ he argued against the voices inside his head. 

_"You won't."_

Hunk?

_"You don't need to hold it back."_

Pidge? 

_"It's who you are."_

Allura? 

_"It's the only thing that will save you."_

Lance, again. Keith didn't know where their voices were coming from. They surrounded him, from his feet to his head, squeezing in on his sides, and into his chest.He couldn't decide if it comforted or scared him. 

 _"We can be together again,"_ a new voice said. Somehow, despite never having heard it, it was familiar.  

 _"Mum?"_ Keith whimpered.

_"But you need to let go. Let it happen."_

But—

Keith didn't know what they were talking about. He didn't know what they wanted from him. He didn't know. 

 _"You do know,"_ Lance said, and Keith felt it inside of him—felt Lance all around him suddenly. Everything was Lance. _"After all, we're just your own self right now. Just projections of the deepest corners of your mind. So, just—"_

 _"Let go,"_ they all said together, washing over him, soothing his panicked heart. 

For once in his life, he took their advice without protest. 

*

When Keith opened his eyes, the weight around his neck was gone and his world glowed bright yellow. He pushed himself to his knees, salty water scalding the burned skin on his cheek and throat and spluttering out of his lungs. But he didn't care. The pain was slowly fading. Replaced by something else. It burned like fire inside him.    

The universe shattered with a grin when Lotor met his eyes from the other end of the beach just as Shiro drove his glowing hand down into Lance's sister's throat.

The sand soaked up her blood like it was hungry for it.

Lotor was still grinning at him even as Shiro's hand retracted and his eyes flickered, the gold shimmering out of existence as his familiar eyes filtered back through.

"Oh, so you saved yourself with that little trick. I reluctantly admit that I'm impressed. Galra physiology is an amazing thing at times," Lotor smirked, his boot tilting the girl's head to face Keith. "Though it does appear you are too late." 

And Keith saw it, the same way he'd seen it happen to Lance, the moment the life dimmed out of her eyes. The moment her hands fell away from her throat and her body stopped jerking and became deadly still. Her mouth hung open, splattered with blood, the same way Lance's had been. Her eyes on him, the same way Lance's were—pleading. Pleading Keith for her life. 

Shiro had fallen to his knees, Lotor had begun to laugh again, and Keith was rushing forwards with frightening speed, water and sand kicking up behind him, claws outstretched and a growl on his lips. When Lotor's upraised arm met Keith's claws the fucker finally stopped _laughing_ , that grin dropping from his face and twisting into a grimace. Keith thought, in the middle of his bloody haze, it might have been the first time he'd seen Lotor not _smiling._

Instead, the Glara gritted his teeth and hissed out, "Just imagine what your lover will think when he gets here. He'll hate you both."  

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Keith roared, and brought his other arm up in an arch going to grab Lotor's severed wrist, hoping to drag out some old pain. 

The Prince simply twisted away and threw his other hand into the middle of Keith's chest, right where Shiro had torn open his armour. Keith stumbled, but not for long, as he was hurtling forwards again, newly sharp canines digging into his lip and drawing hot blood. Keith could taste it mix in with the sea water that dripped down his face. 

Blood and water. 

Everything began with blood and water. 

And it would end that way, too. When Keith tore out Lotor's throat and then drowned him in the ocean like Shiro had nearly done to him. Poetic justice and all, right? He had a feeling Lance would appreciate it. 

"He'll never trust your dear friend again," snarled Lotor, sweeping under another deadly blow from Keith. "You'll have to choose between them both, because he'll refuse to ever be in the same room as him. You choose your friend, you'll lose you lover. You choose your lover, you'll lose your friend. Better make your choice quickly, dear Blue is already on his way here."

Keith roared our an incomprehensible noise and slashed for Lotor's throat again, catching it just barely, his new claws opening a thin wound at the base. Prince's also bled red. Ironic. Lotor caught that hand as it glanced away from his throat, caught Keith just as his body was angled diagonally to his body, so he could look directly into his eyes when he said, "And whoever you don't choose, I'll take for myself."  

"No!" Keith yanked his arm away from Lotor, spinning to land a kick instead. Lotor danced away from it like it was nothing, and he was back to  _smiling_ again. 

"I'll take them in every way imaginable. I'll take their mind, their heart, their love, their soul and their life and make it my own. I'll bend them until they snap, twist them until they can't remember who they were, _let alone you_ ," Lotor smirked again, his fist hurtling into Keith's face with a crunch, something giving way beneath the skin. "You'll be alone."  

Keith didn't care about the pain, only snarled and sprung backwards, feeling a fresh oozing of blood drip from his nose. He used the back of his hand to wipe it away, smearing it across his face like war paint. 

He and Lotor watched each other for a long, long drawn out moment, both bleeding—though Keith bled more—both snarling, both glaring and both  _Glara._ When the Prince opened his mouth to spew more trash Keith snapped, saw the colour red and flew forwards to tackle him around the middle, sending them both to the ground. Lotor allowed it. With a wide grin, he allowed it. Allowed Keith to pin him to the sand and smash a merciless fist repeatedly into his face until he split open.

 _Crunch_ —for Lance.

 _Crunch_ —for Pidge.

 _Crunch_ —for Hunk.

 _ _Crunch__ —for Allura. 

 _Crunch_ —for Shiro. 

 _Crunch_ —for Lance's sister. 

_Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, CRUNCH._

Each hit made him feel stronger. Each time, Lotor merely continued to grin as Keith broke bone after bone with his right fist—like he'd done to Lance. The thought had Keith reeling his fist back, which had been on its way to start cutting open Lotor's left cheek as well. His chest heaving, arm upraised, Keith stared down at the Galra below him in abject horror, his stomach twisting into knots when he realised why he was smiling while being pummelled to a pulp.

There was a hissing voice inside him. 

_Kill._

_Kill the scum that hurt your friends,_

_your lover,_

_his sister._

_Take his throat_

_In your hands_

_Rip it out_

_Spit it in the ocean_

_Feel his blood on your tongue_

_Take take take take_

_He deserves it._

_Take._

_._

_.Take_

_KILL HIM._

"Doesn't it feel good?" Lotor said, lines of red, red,  _red,_ blood running over his purple face and onto the sand. More red against white. "Being Glara? It's  _power._ You're stronger, faster, better in every way. It's the reason why I'm right here where you want me." 

Keith shook his head, sending blood and water spraying everywhere. " _No_." 

"It made you feel powerful, didn't it? To take? Admit it—it feels good," he continued lightly, pushing himself up on his elbows to look directly into Keith's eyes. He could see the way the gold of his eyes reflected off Lotor's own. Could see his reflection; purple, yellow eyed, two elongated ears and fangs. _Glara._ Keith wanted to throw up. 

"I'm not like you," he defended weakly. 

"You are. So is dear Blue. And big Yellow and little Green and the Princess and your Black Paladin. We're all _the_ same. We're all wrong and twisted and terrible, subject to circumstance and hardship. It shapes us, moulds us into what we are. We're _all_ corrupt. Today is proof of that. Did you really think you were all innocent still? After everything?" 

"Shut up," Keith whispered, mostly to himself, hands flying to grip the sides of his head, claws digging into his scalp as if he could stop Lotor's words from sinking in. 

"Hmm, you're still not seeing it yet, aren't you?" Lotor commented, his bloody face twitching curiously to the side. Even his silvery hair was glistening with blood. Red against white. A second too late, Keith caught the dangerous glint inside his eyes. "But you will."  

Then his one remaining hand flew up, faster than humanly possible, caught Keith by the throat and threw him to the ground by his side. Lotor slid over top of him, dwarfing Keith's form with his own and then his hand was sliding up his throat, his jaw and cheek and to his eye, where it hovered over top, claws brushing over the delicate skin of his eyelid. Keith didn't dare try throwing Lotor off, for fear of accidentally sending those claws into his eye. 

Keith needn't have worried, though, for a second later Lotor's hand descended down—

Those wicked claws digging into his eye socket, cutting through his flesh, scraping against the bone, and then closing around his eye, when he _tugged_. Keith's vision exploded.

When he screamed this time, he screamed for Shiro, and Lance, and Pidge, Hunk, Allura, Coran, his mother, father, for Red, and Black, for  _anyone._

_Please! Help me! It hurts!_

No one came.

Abandoned. Always abandoned. This was the way it always went. 

Shiro was collapsed next to the girl he had killed and Lotor laughed above him. 

And he tore, and tore, and tore inside of Keith, taking more and more of him—spilling blood, spilling water, onto that lovely white sand beneath him. 

The last thing he thought before he passed out was that he'd never get to apologise to Lance for ruining his favourite beach. 

He had a lot of things he'd never get to say to Lance.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Sorry I dropped off for a while, I was feeling pretty bad last week and couldn't bring my hands to type how I wanted them to. My body is a weak ass bitch. I also applied for my next uni course! Woooo! Fingers crossed. 
> 
> As always, hope you enjoy. I promise this heavy stuff will come to a resolution soon. And I am thinking of adding a cute Klance one shot scene into this series this week to give you a break. Something from between the end of last fic and this one. Just something cute I had an idea for. 
> 
> love you xoxoxoxo


	19. Thirty-One + 18: Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk didn't want it to happen like this. Pidge needs her mother. Shiro can't move. Lance and Keith find each other. 
> 
> Long chapter. Prepare for spelling/grammar ATROCITIES until I do a second round of clean ups.

Hunk was on his knees when Allura entered the warehouse behind him, his mouth agape as he continued to stare unseeingly, though no noise escaped. He wasn't sure he could ever make another noise in his life again, wasn't sure he could even breathe ever again, lest he take a breath and remember the smell that ate into him this very moment. Maybe he wanted to die, he didn't know, but he couldn't look away either. His eyes were hooked.

The universe was cruel like that. 

"Hunk," Allura said in a choked voice, coming to stand beside him then deciding to fall to her knees as well. She had a hand slapped over her mouth and nose. "Hunk, I'm so sorry. I—I—I don't—" 

"Did you take out the Galra at the entrance? I saw her when I ran inside but she just let me go—just smiled and watched." His voice sounded like the ghost of his own. Hunk almost didn't recognise it. 

"She fled before I could restrain her. I think Lotor ordered her to stand down," she responded. Hunk could feel her weary, tear-streaked eyes on him. He felt the pity like two brands on his skin. "Did you run into any trouble or did they just want to show you..." Allura swallowed against the words. "This." 

He pointed wordlessly to the corner of the room on the right, where the Galra's unconscious form lay tied up and on her side. It had been a hassle, she was quick and agile, slipping past all of Hunk's attacks like it was nothing. But, luckily, when Hunk's mother had woken and started screaming, she'd paused for just a moment long enough for Hunk to smack his bayard into her skull, throwing her to the ground, where he could knock her out. 

Allura pulled her gaze away from the Galra's slumped form and back to the sight before them. Hunk saw the glimmer of her tears trickle down her cheeks and over her hand. "That smell—what is it?" 

A long sigh freed itself from inside his lungs, burning and painful, as he squeezed out the last drop of air within him before taking another breath. "Formaldehyde," he said, feeling the detachment of his words. "It's used for many things: For example, manufacturing glues or resins, it acts a disinfectant and is often added in dyes and pigments in textiles, but most notably, it's the substance used to preserve deceased bodies. I had never smelt it before this." 

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he didn't feel comforted like he would have liked in that moment. He wasn't sure he could ever be comforted again. "Hunk, do you want to leave?" 

He shook his head. When had he blinked last? His eyes felt dry. Why wasn't he crying? 

"You know," he began dully, feeling Allura's hand tighten on his arm. "I spent all this time wishing I could have been by his bedside when he passed. It's my single biggest regret in this entire universe, though it probably taught me the most valuable lesson of my life. I learnt selflessness. It's probably the only reason I can pilot Yellow. But even after I moved on the regret I felt still lingered. Sometimes I still dream about what I would say to him, not even just my goodbyes, but often I'd just be talking about nonsense about school or Voltron. There was a time where he appeared in my dreams every single night. I just ached so bad to see him again. And now—now—"

"Hunk," Allura warned. 

" _Now—_ my wish has finally come true. After so long apart I finally get to see him again." Suddenly Allura had moved to press up against his side, her arm going around his shoulders. Hunk realised it was because his voice had begun to become wet and wobbly. The tears were close now. "I'll admit, the dream versions of him were much more pleasant than this," he began to sob, head falling between his shoulders. 

He'd hoped for years to see his parents again in the same room, yearned for it every time he visited Cuba with Lance and saw the way his parents gravitated around each other. Like Earth and its moon, they just  _worked_ so well together. Lance would cringe and tell them to, _"Stop! Before my eyes bleed out of my skull. Stop!"_ but Hunk had stared at the two of them, completely enraptured. It felt familiar. Hunk spent  _a lot_ of time at Lance's home during holidays after his first visit.

He'd absolutely yearned to see his parents together again, to be a complete family, but not like _this_. One, now passed out from her own terror and horror, the other, a corpse, half dissected and picked apart by the medical students from the med-school not far from here. 

A clink, and Allura's head was leaning against his, only their visors separating them. "You don't deserve this," she whispered to him, her eyes closed.  

Of course he didn't; and she didn't deserve to have her entire planet destroyed, and Lance didn't deserve to lose his hands, and Keith didn't deserve to be an orphan, and Shiro didn't deserve to have his arm taken, and Pidge didn't deserve to lose half her family to the Glara. None of them deserved _any_ of this. He could feel all the others' pain swirling around himself, and he wasn't quite sure where his began and theirs ended anymore. It was a big awful mess and  _God_ did it hurt.

He refused to look back up at his parent's hanging forms and admitted in a low voice, just for Allura, though he knew it would hurt her, "I wish I never became a Paladin."

Hunk supposed, even after everything, some things never change. He felt no different now to the boy all that time ago crying in his dorm with his best friend after his father died. He felt no wiser nor stronger. 

_Coward._

* * *

_Coward_ was the only word filtering through Pidge's head as she mechanically slashed through the restraints holding her mother to the bed. All the while she stared at Pidge like she was seeing a ghost. Pidge supposed she was. 

 _Coward,_ whispered the same voice again as she pulled her mum to her feet, both shaking, both not taking their eyes off the other, both crying. 

 _Coward_ —as they turned to stare at Sam Holt from the foot of the bed, dead and glassy-eyed as he stared up at nothing. 

 _Coward—_ as Pidge turned to bury herself in her mother's chest, arms wrapping around her middle as she began to sob, and sob, and sob, smearing spit and snot all over her top. 

 _Coward_ —as she felt her mother's breath on her hair when she whispered, "Katie." Just her name, over and over again, like a prayer. 

It was the first time Pidge had allowed herself to be a coward since before her brother and father first went missing, and she loathed it. 

* * *

Lance found being imprisoned inside your own body while being forced to pilot your own lion gave you a lot of free time to think. About everything, from why flies were a species when they contributed absolutely nothing to the world, to whether he should pursue this thing he had going with Keith. Eventually, he'd concluded that flies without wings would be called walks, and that he most definitely should (not) pursue Keith's delusional dreams of romance and fireworks, despite how pleasant it sounded. 

Besides, it was looking more and more likely that there wouldn't even be anything left to pursue at the end of all this. He'd never seen anything go so spectacularly downhill as things had today. Lance didn't often condone acts of evil, but he had to give Lotor credit where credit was due. He was a master at fucking with people. 

Too bad Voltron was currently  _those_ people. 

 _Red,_ he tried.  _Stop. Don't obey me. Can't you see the freaky Galra lady currently trapping me inside of me right now? Aren't you uncomfortable with her **in here**? Can you do something about this, please? _

Red only growled in response, refusing  _not_ to respond to Lance as they raced south. Lance could feel her stubbornness like knives inside his head. _T_ _rouble. My Paladin is in danger. He is suffering. We must go to him,_ she seemed to say, her will and terror fiery and barely contained. Lance felt it filling him, burning his skin from the inside out. He understood; he could feel it, too.  

 _Keith._ Something awful was happening to him right now. Shiro, too, but Lance felt Keith's agony like it was his own. Every now and then, he'd feel a blinding flash of pain over his right eye, temporarily blinding him before it died down again. He'd tried opening his mind to Keith, looking for that same connection from before, but he only came up against a solid wall and heard Narti's warning hiss. She was keeping him imprisoned here, inside himself, and all he could do was _feel_ as Keith suffered. Just feel it and do nothing to help. It was killing him inside. Sometimes he swore he heard Keith's screams, faint, but definitely his, and definitely in pain. So much pain. 

Lance wanted to go to Keith, more than anything, however, if he did he'd just be bringing another enemy to his friend. And his family.  

But it wasn't looking like Red was giving him another option. She was endlessly loyal to her Paladins, past and present, it would seem. And Lance couldn't quite bring himself to argue against her logic. Emotion was a pretty epic thing at times. 

If he could, he might have gasped when he felt the Narti's claws dig deeper into his neck, threatening to break the skin as she leaned forwards, face right beside his own. He flinched against his own mind when he saw her tongue flicker out of her mouth.

Lance could feel her inside him, looking through his eyes at the screens displaying their flight path, ensuring they were going the right way, and he wished he could have just moved his hands to imbed his fist into her face. Anything to keep Narti far, far away from him. Her hood was pulled up, concealing most of her face from him so all he could see was that tongue flicking out every few minutes. 

He wondered if she could hear his thoughts. 

 _If you can hear me,_ he began, flinching when he felt a sudden wave of sadness from Hunk. He shook it off.  _I want you to know when I masturbate I use my right hand._  

He wished he could have smirked when he saw the slight jerk of her head and felt a hiss inside him. At least some things were universal. _Used it right before I came here. Don't think I washed it between now and then either._

When her massive, heavy tail smacked him on the back of the head he chuckled silently to himself. So, she could hear him, which meant he could make this thing as awful for her as it was for him. He got the feeling she wasn't supposed to kill or knock him out, so she was stuck at a crossroads. 

He could work with this. 

So, Lance spent the next thirty minutes conjuring up all of the most horribly detailed images of every sexual, disgusting and just plain nasty thing he could think of. Once he ran out of his own experiences to think about he began making up things instead. In another life he would have become an artist, his mind truly a spectacularly awful thing at times. He was in the middle of a particularly detailed imagining between a—

He received a taloned hand across his face, Narti having grown sick of his fooling around. Those talons tore through his skin like paper, and though they were only shallow cuts, he felt the way they stung. That was the thing, he could still feel everything Narti did to him, he just couldn't move, and she seemed happy to remind him of that whenever she saw fit. Unfortunately for Lance, he was also a button pusher; he liked seeing the way she twitched when he sent an extremely vulgar image of her and her boss together just to mess with her head. 

This time the claws at his nape dug in with the intention of drawing blood. 

He couldn't bring himself to regret it, though. 

After all, he could do with a distraction knowing what he was about to get himself into. Well, what  _Narti_ was about to get him into. 

* * *

If Lotor could have gotten drunk on any sound in the universe, it would have been the sound of the half-breed brat's screams as his eye was torn free from his skull. The noise it made as it slipped free from its socket, a slick _pop_ , would have been a close second. Then that pained whimper that bubbled up out of the brat when he realised that his socket was now empty, coming in at number three. If only Lotor could have recorded them at the time and relive this memory for years to come. 

He could feel the way the half-breed's body shuddered, twitched and heaved beneath him. He was seated on his stomach, which was swelling up and down at such a rapid pace Lotor was slightly worried that he'd die right there from shock alone. It sent a hot bolt of fear through him, a foreign and awful feeling that he quickly banished away in the furtherest corner of his mind. Instead, he snarled down threateningly at the Paladin under him as if to say, _"Don't you dare die."_  

Hanging over top of him like this, Lotor's silvery hair—splattered with deep, scarlet blood—draped around them. Caging them both in their own little world. He liked it this way; Lotor was the only thing the Paladin could see this way.

Lotor was his entire world—his entire  _universe—_ this way. His hand hovered above him, glowing yellow eye in hand, dripping blood, tears and gore over the half-breed's purple face. 

"How you doing, brat?" Lotor sang, leaning further down so their faces were only inches apart. The half-breed's one remaining eye was wide, and Lotor could feel the warmth of his tattered, whimpering cries on his nose. His other eye (well, the socket) was a mess. There was more red than purple at this point and, Lotor having graciously kept most of the damage limited to just the socket, the eyelid was sunken over the space where his eye once sat. Blood streamed freely from there, rivers of it, running down his cheeks, and pooling between his nose and eye. He couldn't wait for dear Blue to see Lotor's creation. He wondered what his tears looked like. "Are you beginning to understand? Look into my eyes and you'll see what I do. A monster. Just like me." 

This seemed to make the Paladin angry, and through his pain Lotor saw his face crinkle into a hot glare. His lone, yellow eye practically glowing with hatred. 

It wasn't what Lotor wanted to see, and just when he saw the brat's mouth opening to say something he shoved the eye into his mouth, effectively silencing him. His eye went wide and a sweet, sweet retching noise worked its way up his throat, then became trapped around the intrusion, turning into a muffled gag. When he saw a fresh set of tears bloom in his left eye Lotor smiled and, leaning down even closer, his hair soaking up the Paladin's blood from the sand, darted his tongue out to catch them. They were salty, like the water that surrounded them right at that moment. 

This time, the Paladin sobbed, every ounce of self-reservation completely cast aside.  _That_ was what Lotor wanted to see—what he wanted dear Blue to see. 

He petted his cheek, teasingly fond, and then pushed himself to his feet. The Paladin's body jerked when his weight finally lifted away and he remained completely still as Lotor loomed above, hand on his hip. Just because he could, he pressed a foot painfully hard into his stomach as he walked away, back towards the fallen Black Paladin. Apparently so shocked at the atrocity he'd just committed he'd immediately passed out. 

Hmm. 

How did he want to set this out? 

Who did he want dear Blue to see first? Sister or lover? 

Holding a blood-soaked hand up to his chin he tapped it impatiently in time with his foot. His cheek was aching terribly and he looked forward to a couple hours spent with a druid so he could be healed. 

Sister, Lotor decided. Blue should find his sister first. 

And the half-breed—

He felt the attack from behind before he heard it. The air spiking with energy as he propelled himself to his feet, the brat coming at Lotor with his brand new claws. Lotor sighed and met him with a sold punch to his gut, forcing him back to the ground with a pained cry. He grimaced when he felt the tendrils of his temper seeping through the cracks and had to close his eyes to draw himself together again. So, when the brat went to push himself up again, Lotor's boot to his head was one of control, rather than anger. It had a purpose behind it. He didn't condone violence out of anger. It became messy when you started hurting someone because your temper flared. 

Lotor didn't believe in violence for violence's sake. Everything needed a purpose. 

Every single bruise he'd left on the half-breed's body served a purpose, and every bruise that was to come would, too. 

And the brat needed to be taught a lesson, in this case.

He drove his foot into the back of his skull one more time, pressing his heel down to suffocate the Paladin in the sand. He was surprised when he didn't scream, only groaned a muffled noise with shaking shoulders. 

"Yield," Lotor growled his command, feeling the way the boy's body still trembled with defiance beneath his foot. "Yield, or I'll..." 

"Take my other eye?" Lotor heard him groan, muffled through his mouthful of sand. 

"What was that?" Lotor lifted his boot a fraction to give the Paladin room to speak. 

"You already disposed your only bargaining chip here," he said through gritted teeth, flashing white. 

"I have your friend, too, if you hadn't noticed." 

"But you can't kill him. You need both of us, for now at least. So, the most you can do is—"

Lotor didn't care what the most he could do was, and instead drove his foot down again, silencing the Paladin as he choked on another mouthful of sand. Just before he had the chance to gloat, however, his comm beeped in his ear. Holding his hand up to the side of his head, he answered, schooling his voice to keep out any frustration. 

"Zethrid," he said slowly, watching the brat squirm under his foot with a small grin. Perhaps violence for the sake of anger was bad form, but there was no shame in a little pleasure. Lotor could see the sand around his submerged face was beginning to bleed red. "Were you successful?" 

"Yes, sir. Though Ezor has been captured. The big Yellow's temper was something we did not account for. But he's remaining in his position, with the Princess," Her gruff voice didn't sound exactly pleased or displeased with the turn of events. "Did everything work out on your end, Prince?" 

"Not without a little blood, first. But yes. Feel free to converge on this location for the drop."

"Already on my way. I've picked up human movement flocking to your location as well. They're very much aware of your presence by now."

"Good. Get here soon and our job will be done." There was a slight pause on the other end that had his back straightening. Hesitation. He heard it in the way Zethrid took a breath before she spoke. It was a foreign thing for her, to pause before opening her mouth. She never hesitated. "What is it?" Lotor demanded. 

Zethrid cleared her throat. "Sir, what are we to do about Acxa and Ezor? Are we going to allow them to become the Paladin's prisoners?" 

"If we have to." 

Another pause. His hackles rose. 

Then—

"Copy that, sir. I'll be there in twelve dobashes." 

* * *

Lance was twenty minutes away from home. 

_Home._

His stomach was tying knots around itself in dread. 

 _Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay, please be okay,_ he begged silently to himself. He could feel Narti listening in but found he didn't have the heart to care anymore. Every minute that passed made him feel even more numb, right from his gut and slowly spreading to the rest of him. 

He didn't know who he was begging for anymore. 

* * *

Even though Shiro couldn't technically feel anything with his robotic arm, he felt the blood that had begun to dry on his hand like acid. 

He couldn't move. 

Collapsed as he was on his side, robotic arm outstretched and the fingers brushing the hair of the girl he'd just murdered. He thought he could feel that, too. Shiro could barely even force himself to breathe. 

His head rung, it deafened him. 

He remembered everything. Just as his hand had dove for the girl's throat the hold Lotor had over his mind was relinquished. He'd tried to pull back in time, however, there was too much momentum in his strike and his hand had sliced through her delicate throat like it was paper. Her eyes blew wide at the impact, her mouth gaping like she'd wanted to scream but all that came out was a gurgle, and the sick splutter of blood. He felt it hot on his face when he'd pulled back, his head rushing with pressure as he gained control over himself again. 

He remembered Lotor's words, just as he'd become himself again.  _"You're home. Now fall."_

They were like a trigger. Shiro was the bullet. Lance's sister, the victim.  

He was still falling, even as he lay here dead-still. He swore his heart had even stopped. He'd heard Keith screaming before, had tried to will his body into action, but nothing had responded. He couldn't see Keith, faced the opposite direction like he was, towards the ocean, towards the  _girl._ And he wasn't sure he wanted to see Keith either. 

So, he lay still, perhaps waiting to die, perhaps waiting for the girl to simply stand up and walk away, perhaps waiting for Keith to walk over and tell him this was all just a bad dream. He had the suspicion it wasn't, though. Shiro's nightmares usually ended just as his hand made the killing blow. Always towards the throat. A splatter of red, and then he was bolting upright in bed with a shout. Often to find Keith, Pidge or Lance at the doorway, eyes round and faces pale. Hunk was less comfortless coming to Shiro for help, unlike the others, and he had an idea why. 

This was not a nightmare. 

This was a horror story. 

There was no waking up. 

Not from this.

.

.

.

.

Fifteen minutes pass. Shiro counts every second in his head. 

And an aircraft blasts his world with heat and noise. 

He thinks he hears Lotor's voice above him. He definitely feels his boot jolting his shoulder. He doesn't care. 

.

.

.

Sixteen minutes pass. The aircraft is gone. 

All that's left is silence and the crash of the ocean waves against the shore. The sun is still a sliver of orange just above the horizon.

Shiro stares straight at it. Perhaps hoping it would blind him. 

.

.

Eighteen minutes pass. Shiro thinks he hears voices—lots of them. 

Was that a flash? His metal fingers twitch. He doesn't hear Keith. 

.

Twenty minutes pass. He hears the Red Lion. 

He hears its fury; it burns his ears. He feels its vengeance; it rattles the ground. There is shouting. 

* * *

Lance had lived a relatively fortunate life. 

Seventeen years—perhaps almost eighteen now—of it and he'd only just recently learnt what proper loss felt like. He'd been spoilt. Honestly, if he looked back and compared his life with Keith's, an orphan, lost in a world of uncontrollable circumstance. Or Shiro's, a prisoner of war, subject to the will of others. Or Pidge's, a victim of lies, always told what to believe by others. And Hunk's, an only child with only a mum, haunted by the ghost of his father. Jesus, not to mention Allura and Coran, intergalactic alyssum seekers. They had no other home, apart from the castle ship. Where would they even go after Voltron? 

Lance was the luckiest person he knew. 

Isabelle reminded him of this constantly. 

_"You're the youngest sibling," she complained while playing soccer with Lance in the front yard. "Me, Jasmine and Jonathan are the ones that have to do everything."_

_"That's not true," Lance snapped, twelve at the time, and passed to his sister, wincing at the sensation of the partly flat ball slapping against his bare foot._

_Isabelle caught it under her foot with a smirk, brown hair a tangled mess around her face. "Uh, yeah it is. And we always get in trouble for everything if it's your fault."_

_"Liar," he grumbled and caught the ball when she sent it rolling back to him. When he kicked it this time, it was with considerably more force. Lance, never having much control over the things he did and their consequences, his body unpredictable like that, winced when the ball flew straight over his sister's head and into the sitting room window. The crash of the glass sent his hands flying out as if he could stop the ball in its tracks._

_"Isabelle!" he heard his father shout, furious._

_Eyes locked on the window, Isabelle turned slowly to Lance and fixed him with a flat look. Before she could hit him up with a good old, 'told you so' he waved a hand and said, "Yeah yeah. I'm going." And left miserably to face the music._

He didn't need to be told twice that he was spoilt rotten. He supposed that's why entering the Garrison had been an unpleasant shock. People called you out for all kinds of shit in High School, no matter how petty. 

He thought his own self was the only thing this war could possibly take from him, and he was content with that. Had begun to accept that. 

It had all seemed so far away from Earth that he couldn't even comprehend anything happening here, even with Allura's warning. Lance should have shut the fuck up when he'd had the chance. 

When Red slammed down into the earth beneath her with a thunderous roar, right beside the motionless Black Lion, Lance was shocked to see a lot more people there than he was expecting. Narti didn't seem surprised by this, as her voice inside his head hissed for him to exit the lion. Just because he hated her, he conjured up another set of erotic images of her boss just to piss her off, and because he despised taking orders from anyone else that wasn't Shiro or Allura. Maybe Keith, too. 

He followed her orders though, not because he wanted to, but because _literally_ his body was not his own at the moment. 

The second Red spewed them out of her mouth, she was rising to her feet and lowering her energy barrier. 

The moment Narti finally dropped her hand from around his nape it took him a huge amount of effort not to immediately pass out. It felt like standing up too fast and having all the blood rush to your head. He stumbled, feeling the pressure gather inside his head, but caught himself with groan. 

He turned around. 

Narti was gone. Lance felt the rush of air against his face and blinked. 

His hands were shaking violently. He'd jokingly dubbed that as his spidey senses now. It always seemed to get worse when something bad was about to happen.  

Everything felt wrong. Even the painfully familiar scent of salt and ocean breeze that had his entire body leaning back as he took it all in. The sun, just dipping below the horizon, lit up the sky with faint golds and reds. Jasmine had painted this very sight a few times in the past. Always used to give the paintings to Lance for his birthday. When a gust of warm, humid air brushed by him, Lance thought he'd fall over.

_Home._

Why didn't it feel like that anymore? 

Without realising it, Lance had closed his eyes. So, when he opened them, he was surprised to see a large group of people, a group of  _humans,_ both tourists and locals, all converged around something. It hit Lance like a kick in the gut. Seeing  _people_ for the first time in so long, they almost felt alien to him now. Somewhere along the line he got used to tentacles, fur, six arms, green skin and ten eyes. Somehow, over the many months, alien became _normal_. There were people looking towards Lance, too, staring wide-eyed at him and the lions, phones out. Though the larger group of people seemed more interested in whatever was on the beach as apposed to the  _giant robotic lions_. Lance was sure he heard alarms blaring somewhere in the distance. 

He saw their mouths moving, wary eyes on him, but talking to each other. Looking at him like an...alien. 

He didn't care, though. All he cared about was what the larger group of people were converging around. The fascination was thick and heavy inside him, so when he began to drag his shaky legs in that direction, it was slow and laborious. His feet sunk inside the sand like it was mud and the world around him slowed to a crawl. The crash of the waves was thunder inside his ears. A welcoming. Though it didn't feel as warm as he had dreamed about. 

_CLAP—_

_Welcome home._

_CLAP—_

_We've missed you._

_CLAP—_

_Our son._

_CLAP—_

_Our brother._

_CLAP—_

_Our grandson._

_CLAP—_

_Our nephew._

_CLAP—_

_Our cousin._

_You're home, Lance. Come see what you've missed._

Ten more stumbling steps later and he was pushing his way through the crowd, who quickly began to part for him once they got a look at him and what he was wearing. He felt their eyes on him like dozens of hot pokers against his flesh, felt their breath on his face, the sensation of their bodies brushing past his. Heard the whispers, the suspicion, the fear, the intrigue. Felt it all like scalpels to his skin as they tried to dissect him with their eyes. Lance wanted to run away, but it was like his body was still being controlled by Narti—it carried him forwards whether he liked it or not. 

When he finally made it through the thickest part of the crowd and to the centre, the first thing he saw was Shiro splayed out on his side, unmoving inside his Paladin armour, though he didn't look injured. Lance was confused when he saw that his Galra hand was bleeding. It made no se—

Lance saw his sister, Isabelle.

Also sprawled out on the sand, her long, brown hair a mess of waves around her face, which was turned away towards the ocean. Lance saw the way Shiro's arm lay outstretched towards her, noticed the splattering of blood all over the white sand. Saw the way it seemed to stem outwards from where Isabelle lay motionless besides Shiro, her chest still. Her throat—

Lance had been doing well at not throwing up his guts lately, but his streak was over now. 

—He hurled his last three meals onto the older woman's shoes beside him. There was shrieking all around him, everyone collectively taking a cautious or disgusted step away from him as he fell to his knees. Ears ringing, vision suddenly too bright, the taste of bile on his throat more comforting than the smell of his _home_. His hands shook all the way up to his shoulders as he jerkily tried to clutch his head between them, desperate to block out the sounds of the people all around him—still  _talking._

He threaded his hair between his fingers and pulled, the pain anchoring him. 

_Shut up!_

They shut up. He'd said it out loud and they were all pausing their stupid mouths to look scornfully down at him, as if he'd offended them 

He heard one of them say, "Isn't that the Garrison student from the news?" 

"Yeah, and that's Takashi Shirogane." 

"Something awful is happening right now." 

"The police are on their way." 

All of this was said in both English and Spanish, leaving Lance dizzy and reeling. His entire body, numb. 

And he stared. At his  _sister._

_Isabelle. IsabelleIsabelleIsabelleIsabelle._

_Please, no._

His brother's voice was in Lance's ears: _"_ _She feels too guilty to see you yet. Give her some time."_

_Too much time._

_Isabelle,_ who'd once hated herself for almost killing him. 

 _Isabelle,_ who was studying to be an architect. 

 _Isabelle,_ who used to play soccer with him. 

 _Isabelle,_ who had her _entire_ life ahead of her. 

He was crying, though he had no idea when he'd started, tears spotting the sand beneath him like rain. Everything was rushing, rushing, and rushing. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, his sister was dead. Shiro's hand was—

Was that her blood? He couldn't tell. All blood looked the same to Lance. All of it was red, and wet and smelled like metal. It made him want to gag no matter what the circumstances. Lance wanted to believe it wasn't her blood staining Shiro's hand _—Shiro,_ who was now moving, gingerly rising to his feet. Their audience taking even more fearful steps away from them when he turned to face Lance. His pale skin was dotted with blood, over the bridge of his nose where his scar was and in the white tuff of his hair. They stared at each other for a few terribly stretched out moments. Shiro was crying, too. 

When he spoke, it was a single name. 

_"Keith."_

What about Keith? Lance didn't give a  _shit_ about Keith right now—his sister was a corpse on Veradero beach. Why the _FUCK_ would he care about Keith? 

_Congratulations, universe. You finally got what you wanted. You got me. Are you happy now? Decided I needed to suffer just like everyone else? Ha. Nice one._

Shiro was still speaking, but Lance couldn't hear any of it, not a single word. Everything was just white noise inside his ears. He didn't want to hear Shiro's words. If—if—if—if Shiro was the one who...

 _No._ There was no way. Not _Shiro_. 

But the blood. It was everywhere, on the ground, on Shiro, on Isabelle. Lance didn't know what to think anymore. He didn't _want_ to think. The people around him; they were too close, too many of them, their noise, their heat, their eyes, he could feel them all. Encroaching—their phones in hand, chins turned to each other, eyes looking at him like he wasn't even human. In the corner of his eye he saw one of them reach out a hand towards him and recoiled violent way, pulling himself backwards on his ass, staring up at everything with wide eyes. 

_Get away._

_I need space._

_Leave me alone._

Another hand reached for him on his other side. He narrowly skidded out of the way of that one, too, stumbling to his feet. He glanced around at them all one more time. Caught Shiro's dark eyes with his own. His sister was the only one  _not_ moving. He couldn't do this. He—

He—

He—

Lance ran. 

* * *

Keith was running. 

He clamped a hand over his steadily bleeding eye ( _eye socket_ , he supposed) and stumbled his way through the sand. He felt it cling to his ankles like hands, trying to pull him backwards, where he could still hear the voices of a group of locals trying to catch up with him. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but it scared him. All these people that had shown up suddenly out of no where, they scared him. 

He didn't want them to see him like this. 

 _Galra._  

_Monster._

So he ran. Pulling himself weakly through the sand and keeping the water on his left, he'd abandoned Shiro and Lance's sister as his baser instincts gripped him. Fight or flight. 

He flew. Black had ignored him when he tried knocking on her barrier, so he'd had no other choice but to run. 

These assholes, however, wouldn't leave him alone, and Keith was fast running out of energy, felt it slipping out of him with every drop of blood that hit the sand. Every step sent pain shooting up to his wound. Though it was at least painful enough that it was distracting him from the rest of his injures. Which was why he wasn't prepared when his right leg gave out beneath him, forcing Keith to his knees, armour groaning as he fell. 

The voices behind him became excited, and Keith's ear twitched when he heard their pace pick up. He could practically feel each of their feet hit the ground beneath his hands splayed out on the earth in front of him. Felt the vibrations like explosions. everything was so sensitive right now, all his sense heightened so that every sound, smell and feeling was almost painful to him. 

_No, leave me alone. Don't look at me._

_Stay away!_

Panicked, cornered and rapidly losing blood, Keith crawled towards the water, not sure what he was going to do, but drawn to it anyway. Drawn to the last lingering golden rays of light peaking over the horizon. It looked like a glimmer of hope to Keith at that moment.

The sand felt like knives between the rips in his gloves while Keith dragged himself across the beach like a wounded animal. His vision tilted once to the left, then to the right.

He kept crawling. 

The sounds of the people pursuing him drove him closer to the shore. Keith almost sobbed when he felt the first brush of the cool water against his hands, and kept crawling until he was waist deep on his knees. He wanted to keep going—keep going until he was completely submerged—but something stopped him. As if there was a line connected to him and something—or  _someone else_ —and it was pulling him back. Keith whimpered, unsure. Always unsure, always making the wrong decisions, always hurting people and being hurt in return. The splash of water behind Keith alerted him to the presence of the people behind him. He could hear them calling to him in Spanish. 

His heart beat painfully hard in his chest, squeezing up against his already sore ribs. They were all male, from what he could tell, these absolute _assholes_. 

It was hard to tell, when he was relying on one eye to see and ears that made no sense to him anymore. Everything felt unbalanced. 

"Hey!" He recognised one of them say, their accent thick, but it was English. Keith didn't turn to them, instead wrapped his arms around his middle and stared longingly at the horizon. He could see the stars peeking through the quickly arriving darkness. 

"Go away!" he tried, his voice like rocks inside his throat.

It only served to encouraged the assholes behind him. And when he felt a hand on his shoulder he whirled around, blood, sand and water flying everywhere, and snarled, guttural and low, more animal than human, " _LEAVE ME—"_

*

 _"—ALONE!"_  Lance screamed at the woman whose shoes he puked on following him as he stumbled through the white sand. He saw her eyes widen when he looked over his shoulder to glare at her. His bottom lip wobbled like it did when he was a child. He felt like a child.  

He kept running, keeping the water on his left, feeling his sore ribs heave with the effort to keep themselves together as his heart and lungs thrashed against them. 

_Isabelle._

_FUCK. Oh God. He did this._

He didn't even know what his last memory with her was. Could hardly even picture her face. It made him panic. 

_"No, please no, please no, please. I didn't mean—"_

*

 _"For this to happen. I'm not a monster!"_ Keith begged, watching the people behind him with horror as they started dialling on their phones with panicked, frantic eyes, hissing at each other in low voices and pointing fingers at Keith. They were backing away, at least. Back to the trees that lined the sand. 

Keith supposed they were calling the police or something to come and seize him. Looking as he did, they wouldn't know any better. 

Helplessly he looked down at his hands, where those new talons had ripped through his gloves, wicked and dangerous looking. He ripped the gloves off with a growl. Stared at his hands—purple, purple, purple. He shoved them in the seawater, as if it would wash the colour away. 

It didn't. 

 _"This isn't me,"_ he whispered desperately to himself. _"I need_ — _"_

*

 _"Keith,"_ Lance breathed when saw a crumbled figure in the water, head bowed over his hands, dark hair a terrible mess of curls. He was a silhouette against the straining golden sky. Lance's feet were suddenly moving twice as fast, heart in his throat, the thought,  _I need you,_ on replay through his head. He didn't want to be alone, not like this. 

He was running. Falling, picking himself back up, then running again. 

_"Keith."_

*

 _"Lance?"_ Keith said in a small voice when he heard the familiar call. He felt both hope and dread soar through him at the same time. But before he could react, the water was splashing behind him and he turned halfway to see Lance's long, lithe figure standing before him. He was panting hard, the entirety of his arms shaking and his split cheek now a gaping wound. Worst of all was the stream of tears that ran pale lines down his dirty, sweaty face. And those red rimmed eyes, and the terrible  _loss_ inside them. 

So, Lance knew what had happened with his sister, then. He knew Keith had failed. 

When he caught Lance flinch away from him, Keith recalled with a sick twist of his stomach what he looked like at the moment.  _A monster._

Keith felt his face crumble—shatter, smash, and disintegrate. All the pieces falling around him into the ocean, washing away. A wretched, broken sob broke through his trembling lips. Lance's lips were trembling, too. There were sirens coming from somewhere in the distance, shouting, too. 

"Lance I..." Keith couldn't finish the sentence. He had nothing left to say. Found his words stolen from him when he watched the way Lance's eyes hardened as they scanned over Keith's face, then down to his taloned hands and back up to his ears. Keith felt them pull back against his head automatically in fear and clasped his hands over them like he could push them back inside. 

"Your eye," was all Lance said.

Keith choked on his sob. "My eye?" 

"I felt it," Lance started, and then he was falling to his knees in front of him, water sloshing around them. His blue eyes were trained on Keith and one of those shaking hands rising to hover in front of his empty eye socket. "When it was taken. I could feel it. I can feel all of you." 

Keith stared miserably up at Lance from beneath his brows. "I felt it, too, when the Galra had her hands around your throat." 

Keith allowed his hands to slowly fall from his head when Lance's fingers brushed gently over his wounded face. He tried not to flinch when the tender flesh gave a flash of pain, but couldn't help the hiss that cut through the air. He wanted to sob at the kindness behind that touch, would have leaned into it if the wound wasn't so painful. Lance's eyes were still wary, and in obvious pain, but they weren't hateful, like the eyes of the people before. 

Keith was still afraid, though, and closed his one remaining eye shamefully, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I'm a monster now," he said through another cracked sob. "Look at me."  

Lance's hand moved to cup his chin instead. "I am looking." Keith glanced up and met his eyes again and jerked when he saw his sister's dying eyes flash before him, exactly the same as Lance's. The same deep blue, the same thick lashes, same wide stretch. The guilt ate away at his insides.  

"Your sister," Keith began desperately. He deserved Lance's hatred, he knew he did, but he was afraid of it as well. Lance was all he had left right now. 

" _Don't_. Just, don't make me think about that right now. Please," Lance said in a rush, voice cracking. Keith could hear more voices behind them now. Could see the flash of cameras, the click of weapons, and the murmur of suspicion. Felt it the way one felt a storm just before it unleashed itself. The thick tension in the air made his skin crawl. It made him curl up tighter into Lance, who did the same. 

"I don't want them to see me," Keith begged, his voice hardly even a whisper, and he felt Lance's shaking hand coming up to hold the other side of his face. It was warm. 

When their foreheads knocked together, he closed his eye. He allowed Lance's voice to wash over him, ignored the red and blue flashing lights, ignored the encroaching darkness. "Don't focus on them. Just stay here with me." Lance was warm and soft against Keith and it drew him in like nothing else in his life ever had. His hands rose up to cover Lance's on his face and when a gust of cool wind swept by he felt the tickle of his brown hair against his cheeks. "They don't exist. There's nothing but this right now. Nothing exists beyond us." 

Keith believed him. 

"You're okay." He felt this in a breath of air against his lips. 

"You're fine." A brush of their noses. 

"You'll make it out of here." A drag of a thumb against his cheek. 

"I promise." 

Keith believed him—because he was Lance. 

He knew Lance would stay, and the rest of the world could wash away. Just for now. 

He was safe.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> WELL. That has reached a half conclusion now. Don't worry, it doesn't end there. Lotor's still kicking, right? Lance cannot let that stand. Just the end of a sorta arc. 
> 
> Hope any of my bad grammar didn't ruin your lives. 
> 
> I'd been waiting SO LONG to write this part. WOWOWO
> 
> Love you all! xoxoxoxoxo


	20. Thirty-One + 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week passes in which Allura sees the end. Keith just wants Lance to be okay, but he wants Shiro to be okay, too. What if he can't have both?

When Elida saw the Earthen broadcast of the Galra Paladin and his companion cornered by a mob of humans on a beach, she knew instantly that it was her son. And she felt a growl catch at the base of her throat when she saw the terrible wound on the right side of his face. That _stricken_ expression of his as more and more people showed up to point fingers and weapons at him—it made her feel sick to the core. It made her feel something she hadn't felt in years. _Maternal_. 

Someone had  _defiled_ her son. 

There was only one person she knew who was capable of such cruelty, but were too cowardly to finish what they started. 

"Jone," she said, who had been watching the projection by her side with an unreadable expression, his tail flicking with suspicious vigour. "There is now a slight alteration in our plans." 

"What is it?" he asked, voice low and cautious. 

Elida's claws drew deep holes in the armrests of her seat. 

"We're going to kill the Galra Prince." 

* * *

Time passed, seven days of it, but the Paladins didn't feel a single second of it. 

One could say they felt nothing at all. 

Allura had given them all the option to stay on Earth with their families for some time, to heal and rest, but to her surprise, and perhaps a little to her horror, each of them decided they wanted to be as far away from Earth as possible. They wanted to run, she realised, away from their own home and back into the clutches of deep space. When she'd asked Lance why, he simply shrugged and said, "I don't feel at home there anymore," with haunted blue eyes. When she asked Pidge, she snapped, "I feel sick even looking at Earth now." Keith, who hardly even left his room nowadays, had claimed, "I'm more Galra than human now." Hunk: "I'm afraid of Earth." Shiro: "I don't deserve it." 

Escaping Earth had been an ordeal that set Allura's mood on edge every time she thought back to it. If it weren't for Coran sweeping in with blessedly perfect timing to assist in whisking them all away from prying humans, then she wouldn't even like to think what might have happened instead. Shiro, Keith and Lance had come preciously close to capture by their own kind, and Allura had the feeling that they would have allowed it to happen. Once they were all tucked away on the castle again, she felt a thickness in the air she hadn't felt since Zarkon had betrayed her father. 

No one said a single word.

The silence, suffocating as Keith was rushed to a Cryo Pod, Lance pale-faced and tight lipped by his side and Shiro staring at Lance with a stricken expression. Hunk sticking close to Allura's side as she fussed around with logistics and relocating the castle to a secure location and Pidge practically escorting herself into a Cryo Pod, face hard as stone.

With two Paladins secured and healing, and the castle safely hidden in a mostly abandoned part of the universe, Allura had allowed herself to approach Lance, Shiro having disappeared and Hunk assisting Coran with securing their two Galra prisoners. Lance sat crouched with his back against Pidge's Pod, eyes staring at nothing, and his poor hands an uncontrollable mess at his sides. 

"If you're here to tell me how sorry you are for my loss, don't," he said dully as Allura sat by his side. His face was absolute chaos, his cheek a bloody mess and various other bruises staining his brown flesh. She saw the careful way he held his middle and grew concerned. 

"I'm not. I'm here to tell you that you're likely in need of a Pod as well," she responded carefully, eyes scanning over his reaction, and saw, with regret, how it became annoyed—twisted and wrong.  

"I'd rather not." 

"Why?" 

"Because the pain is a good distraction right now."

"That's not very comforting." 

" _Allura,_ " he snapped, his eyes finally sliding to meet hers, bright with irritation. "Can you just piss off for now? I don't want your comfort or assurance, I just want to be alone and a long way from Earth. Leave me the fuck alone." 

She'd been hurt at the time, rising to her feet silently and storming away back to her bedroom, where she collapsed onto the bed with a sob, feeling the tears burn at the backs of her eyes, acidic and painful. There was a great deal of anger bubbling within her as well and Allura spent a lot of time cursing Lance and his putrid mouth for being so inconsiderate. Coran had come in at some point, a warm cup of tea in his hands for her, and had embraced her, talked to her and assured her that Lance, the  _Paladins_ , just needed time and space for the moment and that she should respect that. She smiled gratefully, wet tears still spilling over her cheeks, thankful for his ways of reasoning and centring some of her most fiery thoughts. 

So, she gave the Paladins their space, and time, with all the patience she could conjure. Allowed them to work through everything at their own pace and only approach them if they approached her first, which rarely happened, and mostly only with Hunk. Though when she looked at him these days she saw his mother's terrified face and his father's dead one, and it haunted her. It made her hesitate when she smiled back at him as they passed each other in the hallway. 

She ignored it, for Hunk's sake. He was trying to work through it as kindly as possible, the least she could do was reciprocate it.  

No one saw Shiro. 

Like Keith and Lance, Shiro only left his room when it was absolutely necessary, and mostly in the middle of the night. Allura hadn't gotten all the specifics yet, but she knew it had something to do with Lance. That _look_ he'd given Lance when they'd all first arrived back to the castle, it was as though Shiro was afraid of him. _Guilty_. 

Over time, she found out the specifics. Sam Holt: murdered before Pidge's eyes, who was then lured into a trap. Hunk's father stolen, his mother, kidnapped, then reunited with their son, though Allura already knew that. And Lance's family infiltrated by Lotor who stole his sister. Who _murdered_ his sister. Who _attacked_ Keith. Keith, who was now Galra. Who was now without an eye. Who now flinched whenever Allura looked at him. 

After getting all the specifics Allura decided she didn't want them. Because Lotor had done it; he'd hit them in all their weakest spots, exploited them and then  _kept_ exploiting them until they were stretched so thin that they might not be able to pick themselves back up. And this had been her doing.  _Her_ idea to rush back to Earth on a mission.  _Her_ idea to destroy Lotor's ship which left him stranded on Earth in the first place. She'd been rash, thinking it was necessary to keep the pressure on. 

Her her her her her  _HER._ Always Allura telling them what they should do, where they should go, and when they should fight. Allura, who dragged them into this intergalactic mess because her own elated heart couldn't bear the idea of turning away new Paladins because she knew how they could benefit  _her_ cause. 

She hadn't even hesitated to recruit them as soldiers. Hardly even knew their names and was sending them through wormholes to retrieve their lions. Yelling at them, "Form Voltron! You must do it now! The fate of the universe rests in your hands! It's up to you!" Allura grew up with that incentive, was schooled by her father, but the Paladins, apart from perhaps Shiro, had not grown up like that. 

Yet she still did what was _necessary_. 

Without consideration. 

One night, four days later, when she'd been alone in the dining room eating dinner, feeling it stick to her insides like tar, Keith had stalked in, surprisingly, but perhaps also unsurprisingly, wearing Lance's jacket, the hood pulled up over his head. His hair was an awful mess, and his clothes had more crinkles than not. He was now proper Glara now, and it had Allura on the edge of her seat, the same way she always had been with Kolivan and Antok; purple skin and a single deadly yellow eye. But only  _one,_ and it had her heart cracking in two when it fixed determinedly on her that night as he sat on the opposite side of the table. His right side was covered with bandages, the Cryo Pod having having actually healed everything, however, Allura suspected he wore it because he didn't want to see the awful reality underneath. 

But his gaze was determined, and though this new appearance of his, however permanent, set her teeth on edge and made her hackles rise, she welcomed it. It was familiar.

She welcomed it—until he opened his mouth, that was. 

"By now you're probably aware of what happened," he said in a rough voice. She could see the way he struggled to talk around his new elongated canines, lips stretching and twisting to accomodate. She could see various cuts on his lower lip where he'd failed to do so in the past. 

"I think I understand the most of it, though no one seems willing to talk much," she admitted with a sad expression. 

"Then you know Shiro was the one who killed Lance's sister." 

Allura flinched back in her seat, her heart skipping a beat as she looked back at Keith with alarmed eyes. " _What?_ "

"Lotor did something to his mind and he went crazy, he attacked me, and then killed her. It wasn't his fault. But it doesn't change the fact that he killed her." 

"What are you getting at, Keith?" she asked suspiciously, her head reeling. This couldn't be true.  _Shiro._

His ears twisted so they sat flat against his head, an interesting development since he'd transformed. His face twisted sharply when he opened his mouth. "We can't tell Lance," he said with determination. 

" _Excuse me?_ " Allura shrilled, rising to her feet and leaning down on the table with her hands braced out in front of her. 

"If Lance finds out that it was Shiro, he'll never trust him again. The team will be split," Keith countered.  

Allura shook her head, not believing what she was hearing. Keith wanted to _lie_ to Lance? "Shiro isn't even a Paladin anymore." 

He rose now to meet her, glare for glare. As much intensity burning in that one eye of his as both of hers. It  _burned_  hot yellow _._  "You  _know_ that's not true. You felt him, too, admit it. He's still part of Voltron, just not completely. There's just something holding him back." 

"You want to lie to Lance about who killed his sister?" she countered. "Keith, do you know how cruel that is?" 

His expression collapsed and his eye rushed to look at the table instead of her gaze. One of his hands turned into a fist on the table. "I  _know._ Jesus, I know. But if he finds out the truth it will destroy the team, you know that. It will destroy _him._ " 

She was shaking her head, eyes closed. "This is wrong. Keith why are you asking me this? You're asking me to lie to Lance. To my friend." 

"Because you should know better than anyone that we need to keep this team together. And I—I can't risk losing either of them. I can't stand it. I can't choose." 

When her eyes opened again Keith was staring at her, his single eye pleading her for all he was worth. She snapped her eyes away to the opposite wall with frustration. She saw his point, of course she saw the logic behind it. Voltron was priority one. _Destroying the Galra_ was priority one. And to do that this team needed to trust each other, they needed to be at the peak of their strength, which would take enough time as it was to build back up again. If Lance found out what Shiro had done, then everything would collapse. Lance would collapse. Allura didn't know Lance as well as Hunk, but she knew that something like this would be the last straw for him. Trust came first for Lance. His _family_ came first, that much she knew. It was a tenacious set of values for Allura.  

And she didn't want to see him hurt from this. 

 _Fuck_. She really was growing accustom to Earth language. 

A growl of frustration tore its way up her throat and she swung her gaze back to Keith. She saw his right hand had torn five jagged lines into the table's surface due to his claws, which she noticed retracted when he put his mind to it.

" _Fine_ ," she bit through clenched teeth, feeling the words like bile on her tongue. She would hate herself for the rest of her life for this, and knew that if Lance ever found out she'd been lying to him, their relationship would shatter. Honestly, if Keith's plan backfired, the results would be even worse than if they had told Lance. But it was necessary. 

Well, she told herself that anyway. 

That's what she  _always_ told herself before she made them suffer. 

For the fate of the universe! 

Soon enough the rest of the team was in on it, all except Lance and Shiro. Lance, who was suddenly  _quiet_ and Shiro who was suddenly invisible. 

Hunk had been the hardest to convince, and when Allura had pitched the agreement at him he'd instantly shot her down. 

"You know how fucked up that is?" he hissed. They were in his room, which was directly next to Lance's, so they had to restrain themselves to whispered arguments. 

"What do you think will hurt him more, Hunk?" Pidge contributed viciously from her place at the door. 

"I know what will hurt him the most if he  _finds out._ This is wrong. This is disgusting, he deserves to know who killed his  _sister._ " 

"Lotor killed her," Allura said harshly. "It was Shiro's hand but it was Lotor's will." 

"It was still  _Shiro's_ hand." 

"Exactly. If you tell Lance that, you'll destroy Voltron. You'll destroy _him_ ," Pidge said. Her face was hard and unfaltering, and it scared Allura. Ever since the girl's father was killed her temper had been shorter than ever. She exploded more than Keith nowadays.  _Time and patience,_ Coran's words washed over her, settling her nerves. 

Hunk seemed to pause at this, eyes widening ever so slightly with comprehension. He hadn't agreed to it until the end of that day, not because he cared about Voltron, but because he cared about Lance. It worked out.  

And so, it became agreed upon by them all, though Allura could see in all their faces, the regret and shame of what they were doing. She felt it cling to her heart, felt it fester and eat away at everything good left inside her.  

Seven days later over half of them team had collectively decided to become liars. 

Allura had never felt like a fraud, but now, every time she saw a glimpse of Lance, who had been like a ghost, she wanted to shove something hot inside her chest. Wanted to feel it burn. She deserved it. But she had always been her father's daughter, and knew that choices like these were ones she must face for the rest of her life. 

She just never imagined that it would hurt this much to look at her friend. 

* * *

Lance was tired. 

It must have been roughly ten in the morning, but he already knew he wasn't getting out of bed. 

He didn't care though—couldn't stand the idea of facing the bedroom door let alone any of the castle's inhabitants. Even the thought of sneaking into the kitchen to get something to eat was more than he could bear. He'd stay right where he was. So he wouldn't feel Allura's pity, or Coran's concern, or Hunk's hesitance, or Pidge's temper. Shiro, he never saw these days. Lance couldn't even recall the last time he'd seen the Paladin, and he wondered what had happened to him that was so traumatising. Keith had told Lance that Shiro had been forced to watch Isabelle's...

Yeah, not going there. 

He'd made a mistake when judging Lotor's character. He thought Lotor wasn't able to make the killing blow, for whatever reason, and relied on that fact being true. He'd made Keith rely on it to when he told him this much. The cost was...astronomical. He wasn't sure he could ever face his family again.  

Keith was probably the only one Lance saw around these days, though it was never much of a choice when he came barging into your bedroom without permission. Lance didn't have the heart to tell him to leave, though. He suspected Keith was mostly coming here for himself, afraid of anyone else's prying eyes on his newly transformed face. 

So, when he came barreling through Lance's door that morning, he wasn't surprised, only turned around under the covers to face the wall instead. He did say he didn't want to face anyone today. He didn't say he didn't want to hear someone, though. Wordlessly, Keith slipped in behind Lance on the bed to lie on his back, not touching him, though Lance could feel the heated line of his mere presence up the entire length of his back. His head was close enough to Lance's on the pillow that he could feel the slight tickle of his wispy hair against the back of his ear, and the whoosh of air whenever one of his new ears twitched. 

"What happened this time?" Lance cut in before Keith could ask how he was. They were both each other's distractions at this point, and Lance intended to be the distracted one this morning. It was Keith's turn to face his demons. If he even so much as thought about Isabelle—

His stomach cramped so painfully hard that Lance had to bite back a gasp. 

"Coran and Allura kept giving me second glances at breakfast. I couldn't stand it." 

"So you ran?" 

"So what if I did?" 

"You're gonna have to learn to get used to it. The looks. The second glances. They're all a part of looking different to everyone else around you," Lance said tonelessly, staring at the depressingly grey wall opposite him. His eyes felt heavy as lead. Was there a way to sleep forever without being dead? Maybe he could freeze himself in one of those Pods and wake up ten thousands years later? Will the tiredness go away, then? Surely ten thousands years was enough. 

He felt Keith's ear twitch with what he had learned to be annoyance, but he didn't bite out a retort like he usually did when Lance told him this. 

"Did you try Shiro's room again?" Lance asked, feeling Keith stiffen, the air practically electrified with the other boy's sudden tension. It was...weird. 

"I did." 

"And?" 

He hesitated. Lance noticed he did that a lot whenever the topic of Shiro's silence was breached. "Nothing. I can't even catch him at night, whenever he sneaks out. He's like a ghost." 

"Why is he doing that?" 

More hesitation. "He saw when your sister was—"

"Don't say it," Lance cut in sharply, wincing. 

"Sorry." Keith shifted behind him, the bed dipping as Lance felt him turn on his side so his front was to Lance's back, though he still didn't touch Lance. When he spoke, his breath hit the back of his neck, making him shiver. "He tried to save her, Lance." His voice shook. 

"Didn't do a very good job, did he?" 

Keith didn't answer, but his head did bow behind Lance's, his nose cold against his nape. "Lance," was all he said, hardly even a word and more of a breath of air. "What's going through your head right now?" 

"I'm tired." 

"That's bullshit and you know it. You hardly even get out of bed anymore." 

This had Lance sitting bolt upright as he twisted to face Keith, who rose with him. He met him glare for glare, chest constricting a fraction when he saw those same bandages over Keith's right side. Keith said that the wound was technically healed, he just didn't want to look at it. The sight of them reined in Lance's quickly bubbling temper, though not completely. 

"What should I be doing then? Hiding in  _someone_ else's bed instead?" He pointed an accusing finger at Keith.  

Keith's ears flattened against his head and Lance saw the way his lips twitched with the urge to snarl, but he swallowed it down with a bob of his throat. Closing his eye he took a deep breath then opened it to meet Lance's own irritated gaze with his yellow one. In the darkness it glowed, golden and frightening. Though Lance felt anything but fear right now. 

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his head tilting towards Lance's. "I'm just worried. About you, about Shiro, and Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Coran. Everyone. Everything feels so off. And I—I I'm  _this,_ " his hands gestured down to his body, expression turning disgusted. "It hurts. Family, it hurts. I never knew how much the people around you can affect you. And I still get glimpses of it inside me, can feel everyone's pain like it's my own. It's confusing. The link between all of us is suddenly so much more intense. I don't get it." 

Lance nodded, comprehension in his voice when he responded. "I feel it, too." 

"I just want you to be okay," Keith admitted in a small voice, his head falling the rest of the way forward to lean against Lance's, and the gesture had him breathing in sharply as he recalled the same feeling he'd felt back on the beach a week ago.

Even after everything—after seeing Isabelle's body and feeling all those prying eyes on him—falling to his knees to be with Keith had somehow made him feel like everything would be okay. Feeling those small points of contact—foreheads, cheeks, hands, noses—was enough at the time, and had erased any conception of the eyes glaring holes into them from the sand. Being with Keith suddenly, at some point, Lance had no clue when, felt  _good._ It was safe and comfortable, almost preferable to being around Hunk nowadays, who flinched at every second noise or movement Lance made. 

"I can't guarantee you anything, but I promise I'm trying," he assured Keith. 

Soft fingers were at his cheek, hardly touching, as if Keith were afraid Lance would shatter. Maybe he would. Maybe he wanted to, but it was fine so long as Keith was there. "I believe you." 

* * *

That evening Keith brushed a careful hand across Lance's cheek when he pulled himself out of bed to see if he could catch Shiro. Lance had been asleep, whispering the name _Isabelle_ over and over again, shaking, but never crying. Keith had wanted to hold him, to weave his arms over and around Lance and just try and hold his trembling body together. But Lance had told him not to, for whatever personal reason. The most he'd allow Keith to do was hold both his hands between his and whisper endless words into his ear to keep him tethered. It worked, for the most part, but it wasn't what Keith wanted.  

So when he brushed the back of his hand along that cheekbone, now healed after Allura forced Lance into a Pod, he allowed it to linger for a few moments longer. Sitting on the edge of the bed he allowed himself to stare at Lance's sleeping face, watching the movement of his chest, the tight press of his lips and flutter of his eyes beneath his lids. Everything was of kilter now for Keith, having only one eye, and it was confusing and terrifying to completely blinded on his right side. He always found his head slightly tilted to his right to cover at least part of his blind spot. But he was always worried he'd miss something one day. Something important. 

He stared and stared at Lance's face, as if trying to commit it to memory when he knew he already had. However, the moment he saw Lance's face begin to morph into his sister's and then back to his own, both dying, both  _suffering_ , Keith had to yank himself away, shaking his head clear of the blood and dead eyes. 

He rushed out of the room, pulling on Lance's jacket so he could flip the hood up over his face. He found the others were less startled by his new appearance if the hood obscured half of it.

Shiro's room was further down the corridor from Lance's, right next to Pidge's, but Keith could still hear the distinct clang of something metallic being forced together repeatedly. It jerked Keith's heart into his throat and he was running before he knew it, jumping back with a yelp when Pidge's door flew open as he passed. She stood there bleary-eyed in her pyjamas, a hand rubbing down her face. She looked like she'd been staring at her computer screen for several too many hours, likely looking for Matt. His mouth twisted when he saw the deep, deep shadows beneath her eyes, which were fixed miserably on Keith. 

"I can't sleep anymore because my dad was murdered in front of my eyes. What's your excuse?" she said flatly. 

He swallowed the thick lump inside his throat. "I have one eye and I'm purple, the colour of our mortal enemies." 

"God, we've collected so many demons since Voltron started," Pidge hissed, her face twisting. "C'mon I assume you were going to Shiro's room?" 

Keith nodded and they both rushed the rest of the way there, feet light against the ground. When they stood in front of Shiro's door, Keith was _really_ concerned. The metallic clang had grown even louder, more rapid, too, and Keith could hear Shiro's faint grunts beneath it all. When the door refused to open after entering the code on the panel Keith growled and slammed a furious fist into the metal, leaving an ugly dent behind. Pidge gave him a cold look and shoved him aside to fiddle with the panel with nimble fingers. 

A mere minute later the doors flew open. 

Keith immediately wished they'd close again. 

This was not a sight he had ever wanted to see in his life. 

Takashi Shirogane was renowned his astounding ability to hold himself together under extreme circumstances. Keith had witnessed this in countless different scenarios, the way Shiro seemed to be able to effortlessly swallow whatever was going through his head at the time and react accordingly. He was agonisingly adept in processing situations and reading their output. He was more well put together than any person Keith had met in his life. It was why  _Shiro_ was the one to lead Voltron in the first place. Keith had seen him frazzled at times, but he could always pick himself back up in the end, no matter what. 

This was not 'no matter what'; this was it. This was the bitter end of Shiro's threshold for the bullshit he's had to put up in his life. Every awful, inconceivably cruel, painful, unfair, agonising moment finally coming to an astounding _click-BOOM_ of an end. Shiro had officially broken. 

Keith could tell Pidge was thinking the same thing, when both her hands came up to her mouth in a loud gasp. 

Keith's heart was beating like a drum inside his ears. 

Shiro sat on his bed, dead-still, his hair a mess, face pale and bruised with sleeplessness and his eyes terrifying—wide, glistening and blank. He sat crouched over something in his lap. He held it with his left hand like it was a weapon, something deadly. By his feet was at least a dozen battered knives, the blades blunt and dented, completely ruined. 

His right arm was gone. 

Nothing but a mess of flesh and robotics at his arm's stump. Tiny sparks flew from the strange wound and Shiro's chest was heaving with huge gasps of air, sweating furiously, as if he'd spent the last few hours doing this to himself. 

He dropped the robotic arm from his lap to the ground and slowly looked up at Pidge and Keith with shellshocked eyes, his lips were moving, like a fish gasping out of water. He looked like he was reaching for words he couldn't find. 

"Shiro," Keith whispered into the darkness, a hand on the wall to keep himself steady. Pidge's hand was clinging to Lance's jacket, though Keith assumed it was more the fact that it was Lance's clothing than it was Keith she was reaching for. 

" _Keith_ ," Shiro finally gasped on a single outwards breath. 

"What did you  _do_?" Keith choked. 

Shiro looked down to his shoulder. "It couldn't stay. I had to get rid of it so I never hurt anyone with it ever again. It turned me into a murderer. So, I _got rid of it_." 

_Jesus Christ._

How could they possibly hope to shield Lance from the truth when Shiro had spiralled so far down?  

Lotor's words slithered into his head, unwelcome but relentless. 

 _You'll have to choose between them both._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Sorry if you wanted to see the immediate aftermath, but the time skip was important, it's to make it kinda eerie I guess? 
> 
> Anyway, I just spent three hours trying to solve my friends relationship issues but neither of them see reason? Maybe I just don't have emotions. 
> 
> ANYWAY. Bedtime now. 
> 
> As always, enjoy. The bad bad suffering is over. Healing begins, but it will be laborious and hefty. Bc nothing comes easy. 
> 
> xoxoxoxo


	21. Thirty-One + 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk has one priority. Pidge asks something she shouldn't. Dinner is always an ordeal. Shiro ponders what people deserve.

"Lance?" Hunk broke the silence in his room that night, the two friends spending some preciously rare time together for the first time in a while. It wasn't that they didn't want to see each other, more that when they were together they just didn't know what to say. They didn't know how to approach each other when they were  _both_ in so much pain. It was like trying to force a couple of magnets together, both their feelings just rebounding off each other. So they'd given it time, until one of them decided it was _time_.

Which Lance had, slipping into Hunk's room that afternoon to settle wordlessly against Hunk's side as he tinkered with his bayard. They hadn't said a word yet, just basked in each other's company.  

Now, Lance's head shifted on his shoulder, looking up questionably at Hunk. He didn't meet his eyes though, they looked too much like a reflection of his own when his father first passed. Pidge's did, too, now. "What's up?" 

"Are you okay?"

"Are  _you_?" 

"Of course not, but I asked if you—"

"Exactly," Lance interrupted, turning to stare at the wall again, eyes half-lidded. Miserable. "If you're not okay, then why the hell would I be? None of us are okay. So, don't ask ridiculous questions." 

Hunk felt his eye twitch at being cut off like that but bit back his snappy retort. Lance had just lost his sister; he had a right to his own temper. So he let it pass. He'd done the same for Hunk when his father first passed, so he'd do it for Lance now.

"Sorry," was all he said, flipping his bayard around to wipe a smudge of dirt away. But he didn't want to stop the conversation, wanted to hear Lance's voice for just a little while longer so he could stop picturing his mother and father inside his head. Coran and Allura were the only ones willing to talk at the moment so he'd been spending most of his time trailing after them so they could fill his head with something other than those images, and that  _smell._

He shivered. 

He needed a distraction, and so did Lance. Right _now_ , before this consumed them.

"Can I ask something else, then?" he said to Lance. He could feel the tremble of his delicate hands where they rested on Hunk's leg. Could feel him fighting it, too. Always fighting it. Always fighting  _something._  

"Shoot," Lance responded flatly, sounding less than interested. 

"What's going on between you and Keith?"

Hunk had no doubt that he was asking this out of bitterness and his own selfish anxieties, but it came out anyway. Keith had been hovering around Lance ever since their first brush with Lotor. Even now, Hunk saw him slipping into Lance's room as frequently, if not more, as he did his own. It made his stomach bubble with a surpirsing amount of anger, and he wasn't entirely sure why. But it was a  _distraction._

He felt Lance jerk against him, but he strategically didn't move his gaze away from the wall. When he answered, it was extremely measured. "Nothing like what you're thinking." That was a lie, but Hunk let it pass. "We just decided being assholes to each other was kind of exhausting and self-destructive." 

Mouth screwing up to the side, Hunk paused his ministrations on his bayard to glance down to the top of Lance's head. His brown hair was a mess and a little oilier than he usually allowed. "Are you lying to me, Lance?" 

"Yes." 

"Can you tell me why?" 

"Yes, but I don't want to because I can sense you trying to make things weird." 

Hunk had the faint suspicion that an argument was about to occur, so he discarded his bayard onto the bed and instead used his hands to gently peel Lance from his side so he could twist to face his friend fully. His hands were braced against Lance's shoulders as he tried to reach for his gaze with his own. But Lance was stubborn, fastening his eyes securely onto the floor. 

"I'm not trying to start anything. I just don't want any secrets between us," he tried pleading patiently.  

Lance's brow furrowed inwards. "Sometimes people keep secrets for a reason, Hunk. Can you just let me have mine?" 

His words sent a bolt of cold lightning straight through Hunk's chest as he recalled the deal he'd made with Keith and Allura. When he agreed to _lie_ to Lance—to keep the truth about his sister a secret. His gut rolled sickly with the weight of his guilt. Sometimes people keep secrets for a reason  _indeed._ But it didn't stop Hunk's curiosity. So: 

"He's good to you, right?" he said instead, lowly, leaning in closer to Lance, watching the way his eyes ever so slightly twitched. "Whatever is between you two, it's good, right?" 

"I know the difference between something good and something bad, Hunk, don't worry. It won't affect the team." 

"I don't care about the team," Hunk drilled out stubbornly. "The team is the last thing I'm thinking about here." 

Lance's deep blue eyes flashed up at Hunk in confusion. "Then wh—"

"It's you, Lance. The only one I'm worried about when I ask this, is you. Voltron can go to Hell. I just want you to be okay," he said heavily, one of his hands sliding to the back of Lance's head to draw him in, a warm cheek against Hunk's collarbone. "If Keith is good for you, then that's all I need. Just know that if I ever see him beating you down I'll break off whatever you two have going myself. Keith might be my friend but you're my priority." 

The tip of Lance's nose was cold against the skin above Hunk's shirt collar as he pressed in close, arms wrapped around himself and Hunk's own winding themselves around his bony back. Lance was slowly gaining his weight back again, though it had stumped a bit after recent...events. He felt down each bump of his spine with tenderness, trying to convey everything going through his head through that touch alone. He almost gasped at the sudden sensation of possessiveness passing through him. He didn't want anyone else to know Lance the way he did, and if Keith—

"How did you do it?" Lance interrupted Hunk's vicious thoughts, voice muffled and warm against his collarbone, and he jerked his chin down to try and catch a glimpse of his face. But it was completely hidden away against Hunk's chest. "How did you move on from  _this—_ this  _loss._  I don't know what to do. I don't know what to feel." 

"Honestly, I'm still not over it, Lance, especially _now._ After I thought I lost you and then...you know." Lance nodded, leaving wet tracks against Hunk's skin. When had he started crying? "But you don't  _have_ to feel anything, just let it happen naturally and work through it as it comes. And if it becomes too much...well, you come drag my ass away from whatever I'm doing. Or Keith's, or Pidge's or Allura's, but I'd prefer it was  _mine._ Because  _that's_ how I did it, Lance. I had the best friend anyone could ever ask for as my roomie, just there for me when it became too suffocating." 

Hunk assumed Lance tried to answer him, however, all that came out was a messy blundering sob, and then another, and another, and soon enough Lance was just crying endlessly into Hunk's chest, hands clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing that could tether him. He screamed into Hunk like he hoped to drown out all his sorrow inside him, like screaming into a box then closing the lid so it couldn't escape. It was just for Hunk. Only Hunk got this unrestrained, unfiltered, version of Lance. And he took it, because it was what Lance did for him all that time ago. Just held him, started crying himself, both for Lance and his parents. 

At the end of it, when they'd run dry of tears and their throats were scraped raw, they fell backwards onto the bed and had a much-needed snooze, Lance's body resting comfortably on Hunk's as he slept on his back. They'd fallen asleep like this many times before, Lance claiming that Hunk was more comfortable than any bed, which kind of ticked him off at times, always being called things like that—'soft', 'squishy',  _'comfortable.'_ Those words irked him like nothing else, even more so when they were said with only good intentions, as if people couldn't come up with another way to describe him. However, though they were the words that came out of Lance's mouth, Hunk suspected he was more interested in feeling someone else's heartbeat against him. The repetition of it, always soothing his nerves. 

Just as Hunk's mind sunk into a blank bliss, he snuck a last sneaky  _fuck you_ to Keith, because no one else knew Lance the way he did, not even Pidge, not even _Lance_. He'd made the mistake of letting Lance go once before, he wouldn't make it again. 

* * *

Pidge watched Shiro twitch inside the Cryo Pod with bleary eyes. She tried rubbing out any smudges from her glasses to clear her vision, but when she placed them back on her nose it was only to realise that her glasses weren't the problem. 

Countless sleepless nights probably _were_ , though. 

When the phantom sting of her previously wounded shoulder itched at her skin, she looked away, remembering how much she despised the Pods. Specifically the waking up bit. It was cold, confining, smelt like stale human, and uncomfortable trying to walk again after stepping out. Also, she sweated a lot when confined in tight spaces for extend periods of times, no matter how cold it was, so trying to strip off the skin-tight suit afterwards was always an awful process. 

She watched Allura instead, moving rapidly around the room to fiddle with different screens and buttons and hissing over her shoulder every so often when Keith said something to her. She looked stressed, more than usual, and Pidge immediately felt bad about dumping all this drama on her so suddenly in the middle of the night. The dark circles around her eyes looked almost painful, like someone had beaten her eyes in repeatedly. She supposed the Paladins may was well  _have_ for all the shit they brought up on Earth. When Allura stepped out of the room suddenly at one point Pidge felt like an elastic band had slapped her in the face and quickly searched for something else to attract her attention. 

Everything was moving so slowly. Either she was too quick or everything else was too slow. Who knew? Not her. 

Which led her to staring at the way Keith's new ears twitched at his skull as he watched Shiro cautiously from the other side of the room, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall with an unreadable expression upon his purple face. The bandages around his right side were practically falling away and Pidge gulped when she got a peak at the healed wound beneath. Not too much scaring, a surprisingly neat wound if she were honest, but awful enough to know exactly what he'd gone through. She'd felt it, sort of, when it happened. A flash of pain that sent her to her knees briefly with a gasp. 

When Keith caught her staring he curled into himself, as he always did when he felt eyes on him, and pulled the hood of Lance's jacket over his head. Pidge could see the twitch of his ears through the material, though. He was still looking at her, and feeling flighty under that yellow gaze she reacted with the only thing that she could come up with. 

"Are you and Lance having sex?" 

There was a stuttering cough by one of the other Pods and Pidge flipped around to see a wide-eyed and horrified Coran speeding out of the room at light speed. Oh. Not completely empty, then. She hadn't even known he was in here. Whoops.  

When she turned back to Keith, he wasn't doing much better; if the darkening purple at his cheeks counted as the Galra equivalent of a blush, then Pidge knew she'd hit some kind of nerve. And, ever intrigued by things she wasn't allowed to, it drew her in. Drew her away from that other, darker place in her mind that currently lurked. 

Keith fixed his yellow eye on her with venom. "You can't just ask that, Pidge."

Pidge crossed her arms and cocked her head at him. "I already did. So you may as well answer." 

"No, I won't. You're being unfair even considering it when you know what just happened to Lance. You're being an  _asshole,_ " he said very pointedly, but his ears were still twitching, and Pidge still stared at them in intrigue, feeling numb.  

"It's just a question," she shrugged. 

"It's just you trying distract yourself from your own pain at the expense of others. So, quit it." At this, his ears flattened back threateningly. 

This had Pidge's lip curling and she strained to keep the wobble out of her voice when she said, "What should I do instead then, Keith? Talk about how our  _leader_ has literally lost it and cut his fucking arm off. And how if we let him out of his Pod our little secret will be completely blown, and then, the entire team. Or should I talk to you about my feelings? You want me to outline every sick thing going through my head right now? Want me to sit down and 'work through it' with you? If I had wanted to think about what happened I would have stayed on Earth to do that with my _mother—n_ ot _you_. Never you. Maybe I would have gone to Lance, but I can't do that because he's probably more messed up than I am, and every time I look at him I can't even last more than a few seconds because then I remember we're all  _lying_ to him. But I know it's for the good of the team, but it still hurts. It still _hurts._ _Everything hurts._ All the time. So, I'm sorry I wanted to have one conversation that didn't feel like another therapy session."

At this point Pidge, realised she'd broken down into a series of dry sobs, no tears coming yet, but they were on the brink, burning and terrifying. Keith was moving cautiously towards her, too. She might have run, if her legs didn't feel like they'd collapse out from under her. "So," she started again, the words rising from within her before she could stop them. "Can you just give me an answer so I can pretend things are still the same as they were before? Just give me  _anything,_ Keith. Please." 

Keith, in front of her now, struggled with his expression for a moment before it flattened into something resigned. "We're not, okay? I don't know why this keeps coming up, but we aren't doing...that. Happy?" 

Pidge felt horror roll through her when a single hot tear finally dripped down her cheek. She tried desperately to wipe it away but soon enough more tears were welling up behind it. " _No_ ," broke through her trembling lips, and, with an uneasy acceptance, she leant forwards to rest her head against Keith's chest, one hand going to grip the sleeve of Lance's jacket. She could smell Lance's soapy scent inside the material, and it was enough to have her taking a much needed breath, though it rattled and jerked inside her chest. Keith stiffened beneath her, but eventually raised a hesitant hand to the back of her head, carding his fingers through her hair. More tears soon followed and she pushed herself closer to Keith's warmth, desperate for anything remotely grounding to chase away the darkness still laughing in the back of her mind. "I don't think I'll ever be happy again." 

Keith didn't respond for a while, just continued the movement of his hand through her hair. Her nose was getting itchy squeezed up against him like this, but she didn't dare move away. Eventually he responded, so softly, she almost didn't hear, "I know the feeling." 

Pidge believed him.  

She held on just a little longer. 

* * *

The team accidentally came together that evening for dinner. Lance wasn't quite sure how it came to pass, but somehow everyone, excluding Shiro, of course, had converged at the same moment for a 'light snack' and Hunk decided they may as well have a proper meal together. It was as good as time as ever, so they'd all mumbled out an agreement and collapsed in their seats as Coran and Hunk disappeared into the kitchen. 

It felt...strange, sitting at the dining table as a group again; Keith on his right, Allura opposite and Pidge by her side, opposite Keith. Lance noticed Keith and Pidge were doing an excellent job at avoiding making eye contact and grew suspicious. He couldn't tell if it was a good or bad thing. 

So he asked, "What happened to Shiro? Hunk said he was in a Cryo Pod. Is he hurt?" 

This time even Allura's eyes swept away, avoiding... _something,_ along with Pidge and Keith's, as their gazes ducked away from Lance. It stirred up irritation inside him. 

"He isn't okay. At least not right now," Keith gave, slowly, as if analysing each word that came out of his mouth. That wasn't a Keith thing to do, not at all. His stomach curled dangerously inside him. "After Lotor took control of him, I think it just freaked him out. He...he tried cutting off his arm. And he succeeded. The Galra one, I mean." 

Lance drew in a breath. "Jesus." 

"We're keeping him in the Pod for a few minor injuries and to give him some rest before we try anything else," Allura added, playing idly with her spoon between her fingers. Her short hair was a ruffled mess at the moment, sticking up at all ends, but it was still adorable. 

"I didn't realise it was that bad," Lance admitted, eyes falling to stare at his empty bowl. Normally he'd be growing impatient for his fix of food, but his stomach felt like it was filled with lead right now, and was really only sticking around because Pidge was making the effort to. She'd lost just as much as him, so if she could do it, so could he. 

"He'll be okay," Pidge said, arm propped up on the table to rest her chin in her palm, pushing up the skin of her cheek rather unflatteringly. Her eyes were dark and miserable. 

Wait. 

"You all knew about this?" he asked, snapping a hard look to each of them. The agitation was growing—the anxiety and distrust, hot and corrosive. He felt secrets being passed around here, but none of them were for him to see. It left an alarmingly familiar taste of separation on his tongue again. 

To his right, he felt Keith moving in closer, his shoulder brushing up against Lance's as he slipped a careful hand beneath the table over his. He squeezed it tightly and Lance could have sighed as the shaking was subdued to a slight stutter. He saw both Allura and Pidge's eyes track Keith's movement with caution, but they didn't say a word. He was glad for that, he couldn't explain what was going on between him and Keith if he tried. 

"Pidge and I were both up at the same time and heard the noises coming from Shiro's room. We woke Allura to help us get him into a Pod because he was inconsolable. Coran and Hunk were both in the Cryo Pod chamber in the morning to check up on the two Galra Generals, so they found out." 

Lance's shoulders slumped. "Right, that makes sense." Of course it did, it made complete and total sense, but he still felt anxiety tickle at the back of his head. The faint, lingering sensation that there was more to this than they were telling him. But he didn't push it, he couldn't afford to. Everything was fragile enough as it was. 

Soon enough Hunk and Coran appeared again with dinner, nothing especially fancy, aware of the fact that most of them couldn't handle anything more than a few mouthfuls. Except for maybe Keith, who's appetite had sky rocketed since his transformation. He tore into dinner like it was the last meal he'd ever have. Maybe he thought exactly that. 

Lance watched with wide eyes as he cleaned out a second bowl of something that was relatively close to pumpkin soup in only a few minutes, his spoon sitting shakily halfway to his mouth and soup growing cold. He did this all with one hand, too, his left one still gripping Lance's tightly, stubbornly refusing to let go.

When Keith went to lick the bowl Lance ducked in. 

"Umm, nope. Not when you're wearing  _my_ jacket. Keep it clean," he cautioned, watching the way Keith paused, his ears perked upright, caught Lance's eye, before slowly lowering the bowl. He didn't look pleased. He still looked  _hungry_.Christ, he'd be cleaning Hunk's food stocks dry very soon. When Lance saw the disappointed pout on Keith's lips he sighed and pushed his bowl over to him, dropping the spoon in defeat. "Here, take mine. I can't finish it anyway."

Keith shook his head adamantly, inky hair spilling all over the place. "Nope, no you don't." 

"Yep, yes I do," Lance mimicked, mouth clamping tightly shut as he shot his eyes in the opposite direction. Besides Lance, on his left, Hunk caught his eye with an upraised brow. So he closed his eyes instead, leaning his chin on his hand, pretending instead to be sleepy. Everyone left sleepy people alone, right? 

No, they didn't. At least not if their name was Keith. 

"No you don't," Keith annoyingly fought back, and Lance heard the scrape of the bowl as he shoved it back to his side. The sound might of well have been equal to that of nails down a chalkboard for the way Lance shuddered in its wake. Couldn't he just  _lift_ the bowl? 

"Just take it, Keith. Fucking hell I'm not asking you to eat a bowl of nails. You're hungry, I'm not. It's not a big deal." 

"You've only eaten half of it."

"And if I eat anymore I'm going to puke. Probably all over you just so you feel bad and have to hand wash my jacket." 

"You're being unreasonable, it's _your food_." 

"But I'm  _not hungry._ " 

Lance couldn't believe they were arguing over _food_. It almost felt normal again, but, it just didn't. There was nothing comforting about this argument. It had his shoulders hunching with unease, feeling everyone's eyes on them, a combination of frowns, twisted lips and various states of raised brows. The same expressions the people on the beach had given him as they watched his world crumble around him. His breath caught in his throat. 

"Lance—" 

" _Keith,_ just eat the fucking food!" Hunk snapped, a large hand slamming down on the table, rattling all the dishes and jerking Lance's arm out from under him. He caught himself just before his chin smacked into the table and gaped at Hunk, who was looking at Keith with a thunderous expression, jaw working stressfully. "He offered you his food. He said he's not hungry. Just be grateful and eat it." 

Silence. 

It stretched out until it was so thin and fragile that everyone was too afraid to break it, lest the consequences be disastrous. Lance's gaze swivelled to Keith, who was watching Hunk with a strange combination of defiance and panic, his hand still clamped around Lance's bowl. His gut twisted. He should have just sucked it up and ate the damn food. He knew what Keith was like, knew he wouldn't just accept it like a normal person would. 

Lance cut the silence, and felt it whip back to smack him in the face like he knew it would. "Keith, just take it. I'm good, I promise," he said weakly, trying to coax the Paladin into meeting his eyes.

He did, their eyes clashing together like magnets, which prompted Keith to bite out, "Fine.  _Fine._ " 

"And don't be an asshole," Hunk said, unhelpfully. 

" _Hunk,_ " Lance strained out. "Just leave it, okay?" He turned his attention back on his friend pleadingly, begging for him not to make the issue even bigger. Keith had a short enough temper as it was, and with Hunk's slowly shortening one added to the mix, it was a recipe for disaster. When Lance tried to coax Hunk into looking at him, he became aware of the way he was staring stormily down at his food, as if he wanted to start a fight with it. He refused to look at Lance, and with a sore stomach Lance recalled what he'd said earlier: _Just know that if I ever see him beating you down I'll break off whatever you two have going myself._

Oh, jeez. 

Hunk left the room after a couple more minutes of mind crushingly awkward silence, his bowl half empty. Everyone stared after him with wide eyes. 

"I'll go after him," Coran said kindly. 

"I'm gonna check on Shiro," Pidge said, quickly aborting the table. 

"I'll take the dishes away," Allura announced with an upraised finger. 

Keith and Lance remained where they were, watching everyone shuffle around and eventually disappear entirely without a word. All that was left was the silence, deafening and suffocating once again. Lance was about to run away from it when Keith decided to break it instead. 

"Lance, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to start anything—"

"Keith." 

"I'm just worried about you losing weight again and—"

"Keith." 

"I couldn't stand the thought of taking your food when you need it more—"

" _Keith."_

"Couldn't stand the idea of seeing you look like _that_ again." 

" _Keith!"_ Lance shouted, leaning into the other Paladin's space. Keith paused, his eye wide and fixed desperately on Lance. "Look like _what_ again?" he prompted carefully. 

Keith swallowed with a pained expression. "Dead. Like when I killed you. Like when—Lotor killed your sister. It was the same. It's always the same," his voice came out in panicked breaths of broken air, and Lance felt the crushing force of his hand over his as he tried to contain his own inner terror. 

Lance's expression softened slightly.  _Slightly._ "Keith, I'm not going to die because I couldn't finish one meal." 

"I know.  _I know._ Doesn't stop me from worrying, though." 

"You keep worrying about things that aren't set in stone yet, that's your problem. You're stressed before you even need to be. About Black and Shiro, about me, about _all_ of us," Lance said, slipping his hand out from under Keith's to rest it on his shoulder instead, feeling the rough material of his jacket against his palm. "About yourself," he added pointedly. 

Keith's head dipped down out of his view, his dark hair a stubborn curtain between him and Lance. He was tempted to use his other hand to part it, but got the distinct feeling Keith didn't want to be seen right now.

"I'm trying to lead. I'm trying with Black, but she keeps fighting me. And now Hunk's fighting me. I don't know what to do. Shiro would know, but he's...out of commission, and Allura is too uncomfortable calling the shots after everything that happened. And now I'm  _Galra._ Who's gonna trust us with a Galra-freak as the head of Voltron?" 

Lance screwed his lips to the side. "You were always Galra, ya know." 

"Yeah, of course." 

"So it doesn't really change anything. You're just a different colour and have a set of cat ears. Big deal." 

"Don't call me a cat." 

"Good idea. I hate cats. Anyway, the point is you're no less Keith than before and if anyone has a problem with a Galra as the leader then they should maybe read up on their history as to who was the _first_ Black Paladin." 

"Zarkon betrayed Voltron and killed King Alfor and took over most of the universe, enslaving billions," Keith reminded Lance in a dull voice, though he could a sworn there was a hint of a smile behind it. It had him leaning further in. 

Lance shrugged, the foreign feeling of a smile curling up the ends of his lips. It felt distant, and temporary, but it also felt normal. "Yeah, well, let's just hope you're not related to  _him._ " 

"Oh God, don't even present to possibility. I don't wanna be part lizard, too," Keith laughed bitterly. "I promise I won't turn evil, at least." 

"I'll hold you to that," Lance chuckled, and  _that_ drew Keith up to look at him finally, catching Lance's chin with his forehead in the same instant and sending both their heads snapping back with pained groans. A hand flying to cradle his poor, battered chin, Lance straightened his head to catch Keith's yellow eye. He still had the bandages around his right side, but from what Lance could see on the left side of his face, he was looking at Lance with a little bit of hope. 

It was nice. 

"So, you'll be okay?" Keith asked, swallowing audibly as he waited for Lance's response. 

He hesitated, but eventually Lance thought back to his conversation with Hunk hopefully, and nodded. "Give it time. We'll all be okay. So long as we're upfront and honest with each other." 

He caught the slight wince and collapse of Keith's expression and his stomach curled in tight again. That was definitely guilt. There was _absolutely_ something Lance wasn't being told. And though it had his temper burning hotter—Red, too, joining with the suspicion at the back of his mind—he didn't push anything. He'd give Keith, and whoever else knew, the time they needed. After all, he still hadn't told Keith about Axca's suspicions. He couldn't get all high and mighty when he was keeping secrets himself.  

"In the meantime," he continued, trying his best to pick up the mood a little again. "What do you say about getting rid of those bandages? We could get you a fancy eyepatch instead if you want? A parrot even? How do you feel about sacrificing a hand in favour of a hook? You'll fit right in with those pirates we had a run in with." In the middle of this Lance had begun to raise his hand to grip Keith's bandages, but he jerked away from Lance's hand with a rough, " _No,_ " just as his fingers hooked around the edge of one strand. 

_Oh fuck._

They spilled out around Keith's face and Lance was startled when he frantically pushed himself away from the table as he tried to force the bandages back into place.

His body half turned away from Lance, he pushed out between shuddering breaths, " _I said no!"_ His hands were unsteady as they held the half-collapsed material over his face and his yellow eye was fixed fearfully on Lance. He looked cornered, as if Lance were going to hurt him. 

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to," Lance pleaded, rising halfway out of his seat to approach Keith, but he only flinched further away from him. Lance paused, confused and hurt. 

"Just—just let me go fix it. And don't follow. Please," Keith begged, already backing away towards the door. 

"Keith..."

"I'm just not ready for anyone to see it. Please, Lance." 

Lance watched in pained silence, his heart tearing at the seams, as Keith reached the threshold on shaky, nervous legs. But he only breathed out slowly and nodded with closed eyes. "It's okay." 

When he opened them, he was alone. 

The emptiness of the room echoed inside his chest and had him curling in on himself. 

When he looked down to the table he noticed the bowl was still half full.  

* * *

When Shiro had fallen out of the Cryo Pod in the middle of the night, no one was there to greet him, so he assumed he wasn't supposed to be out yet. Which meant no one was surveilling him. Which meant he could follow his instincts, in spite of how jerky and incomprehensible they were. He felt unhinged, flighty and untethered as he crept silently down the dark corridors of the castle, following his senses like a dog following its nose. He held his stump with his left hand, feeling relief at not having that cursed limb there anymore. 

Go go go go, the voice in his head chanted, egging him onwards towards the Paladin dorms. 

He still felt the warmth of her blood against his hands and the sound of her last breath being cruelly stolen from her. By  _him._ _Shiro._ A  _murderer._ How many people had he killed in the arena when they'd blanked his mind like that. Those few words. 

_Don't you miss Earth?_

_Don't you want to go home?_

His head spun even thinking about those terrible, awful, monstrous words. Had to physically bite into the meat of his left forearm to muffle the scream that erupted him as he stumbled blindly forwards. The world was tilting around him, his skin damp with sweat. Drowning in it. 

This—

He couldn't—

His hand—

His fault—

Those  _eyes—_

So very much like Lance's, staring up at him like he was a monster. 

Wasn't he? 

Collapsed—he'd collapsed now as he threw his side into one of the metal walls, likely bruising the entire left side of his body. He picked himself up again. He had to go, and see to it he faced what he deserved. 

He passed Hunk's room: but it wasn't the one he was looking for.

Pidge's and Keith's—still not the room he was after. 

At last, he came to stand out front of the room he was looking for, staring up at the doors with an odd mixture of dread and certainty curdling inside him. He had to do it. Shiro had to give Lance the truth. He couldn't keep it inside him. Lance didn't deserve to be deceived. 

Shiro did deserve his hatred, though. 

This was fair—

This was right—

It was the right thing to do. 

Deserve? That was always the question. What do we deserve?

Shiro had a few ideas what  _he_ deserved. 

He stepped forwards and knocked on the doors, three sharp  _raps_ that had Shiro wincing with spiked dread. When an answering grunt sounded from the other side of the doors, he stepped forwards, prompting the doors to whoosh open. Stepping inside the dark room, they sealed behind Shiro with a thud that felt much like the sealing of his own fate. He had to do this. He must. It was the right thing, right? 

_Right?_

_Right?_

_RIGHT?_

His head was so loud. Too many things. 

Too much too much too much. 

In the midst of Shiro's swirling thoughts the only answer he could come up with was yes. The truth was always the right way. 

Truth. Lance deserved the truth. 

Shiro deserved whatever Lance decided. 

When Shiro looked up he met Lance's eyes somehow through the crushing darkness of the room. He was sitting on his bed, his blue night gown on and looking about as close to sleep as a Shiro was to his sanity. His lids were half lowered, unimpressed with being barged in on the middle of the night presumably. Shiro was about to make the night even more sleepless for him, and he hesitated for a moment when he scanned over the obvious misery Lance was in. 

Should he do it? 

Should—

He—

What do we deserve? The truth? Or the fairytale? 

Shiro never believed in fairytales. 

He  _must._

"Lance," his voice scattered to bits as he spoke. "I have something I need to tell you." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Hey, guys! Sorry about the wait! Uni picked up and I was crazy tired from work as well so I kinda plopped into a puddle of no creativity. I was actually gonna post a couple days ago but my health plummeted a bit, too, dizziness and various other things that suck, so it took longer to get it out. My health tends to do that at times. :-( 
> 
> But it's all good! Got some hurt and COMFORT for you this time to repay you for sticking through all that angst. 
> 
> Hope it suffices!!
> 
> Love you all! 
> 
> xoxoxoxox


	22. Thirty-One + 26: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosemarie McClain attends a funeral, and burns. Shiro is still having issues. A conversation sparks a good idea.

Rosmarie McClain was attending the second funeral for one of her children in a matter of months.

She could not bring herself to cry. Stood still as stone instead, glaring hateful eyes at the security agents lined up against the chapel walls, hands braced on their weapons, eyes sharp and wary as if they were expecting one of the mourners to start a fight. This wasn't a funeral; it was a prison. 

It wasn't what her daughter deserved. 

It wasn't what her son deserved, either. 

They didn't deserve to be treated as criminals or suspects in extra-terrestrial activity. They didn't deserve to be monitored like lab rats even when they were nothing but memories. Lance didn't deserve to be accused of suicidal manslaughter; Isabelle didn't deserve to be labelled a specimen to be studied by the government. 

They didn't deserve to be famous worldwide for  _dying._

Rosemarie didn't deserve the looks she got at the grocery, and the whispered words that were somehow always loud enough for her to hear. _"Her son killed himself and his friends in a Garrison craft. Poor woman."_

It was a lie. She knew it was. She knew Lance. 

Now when she went to the grocery it was: _"The news said her daughter was murdered on the beach. It's connected to all that crazy alien stuff the government is hiding. Poor woman."_

Yes, poor her.  

She didn't even get to have their bodies. 

She didn't even get the  _truth._  

Rosemarie had always tried to reel in her temper, though it always flared along with Lance's at any given time, however, now, she hoped her rage and fury burned hot inside the room like a furnace. Hoped that all fifteen agents watching her daughter's funeral like they had any _right_ felt it burn their very flesh. She hoped the very chapel went up in flames. Rosemarie had been lied to, time and time again, by the Garrison, and now by the entire government. 

 _"We need to keep your daughter's incident under the radar,"_ _another man in another black suit said to her in her lounge room, sitting in the very spot Lance always use to claim for himself. She felt a vicious longing to shove him aside and wipe any trace of the federal agent away from that spot._

_Her face twisted. "She was murdered. If you would please stop sugarcoating it. Murdered by the imposter who dared wear my son's face."_

_"Your son...who died in the Garrison incident? Lance McClain." His head skewed to the side as he leaned in closer across the coffee table. His intrigue made her feel sick._

_"My son, who's death is being used as a scapegoat for the Garrison."_

_"That's an awfully bold statement, Mrs McClain."_

_"So is calling my son a murderer, but everyone else seems to have no problem with that," Rosemarie countered sharply, pleasure rolling through her at the startled look on the man's face._

_He recovered quickly, though. "Have you considered that this 'imposter' might actually **be** your son?" _

_Rosemarie felt the words like a slap in the face. Her ears rung and the air she breathed suddenly scorched the inside of her throat when she dragged in a huge breath. "Excuse me? Please tell me you did not suggest what I just think I you did."_

_"The bodies were never located. They were burned to dust in the crash, so it's possible he may have not been killed in the crash after all. There was no body—"_

_"Get out of my house," she interrupted, her voice cracking with fury, and she felt it vibrate through her entire body when she slammed her hands down onto the coffee table, rattling to bullshit tea she'd poured for this monster._

_"Mrs McClain," he pleaded._

_"Get out before I call the police!"_

_"Well technically we are _—"__

__"Get out, you son of BITCH!"_ _

_Get out get out get out get out!_

_GET OUT._

_Why?_

Why did everyone insist on telling her what her son was? Insisted they knew better. _"He was always unpredictable."_    _"Jealous." "An attention seeker." "Dangerous and reckless."_ How could—how could these people, some who had known Lance for years, say such awful things about him? Why did no one believe her when she said her son wasn't who the Garrison claimed he was? 

Why—

Why was he the main suspect in her daughter's murder? 

Jonathan was making a speech now, his thin face pale and his hair a ruddy mess. He looked miserable and as close to dead without actually being dead. Of course he did. They didn't even get to have her body. They had labelled her remains property of the government and whisked her away the moment they could. 

All Rosemarie ever got was an empty apology from people. 

When she looked down at her mobile she noticed a message from Marie Holt, the first one she had received in months. 

* * *

"Oh," Lance said, drawing it out long and slow as he dragged his gaze up and down Shiro's form. "It's okay, Shiro. Seriously, you should probably be taking care of yourself with your arm being...you know." 

"No," Shiro immediately answered, resolute. 

"No?" 

"I'm not concerned about myself. And neither should you." 

"I shouldn't...care about myself?" Lance asked uncertainly, eyes falling to the floor while he braced for a potential scolding. Something about how he should stop feeling sorry for himself and man up, he was sure. 

"Jesus, no, Lance," Shiro said, dropping to his knees in front of Lance who sat in bed with one leg draped over the edge. He landed with a heavy thud, which had Lance cowering back uncertainly. This—something felt wrong. Shiro didn't feel...right. Something was horribly out of order here. "You shouldn't care about _me_." 

Lance didn't get it. "Why is that?"  

"Your sister, I—" 

" _Isabelle_ ," Lance supplied, the words hollow and cold in his throat. "Her name is Isabelle." It felt like something Lance needed Shiro to know, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps he just couldn't stand the idea of Isabelle losing her identity, even after death.  

It was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because Shiro flinched violently away and his face turned shockingly pale. His dark eyes were glimmering with some kind of pain, like it was spilling out of them from the inside, and Lance realised he was actually on the verge of tears. His teeth dug violently into his bottom lip as his eyes darted quickly away from Lance's. 

Lance himself sat there, still as stone, a hand partially upraised like he wanted to reach for Shiro. He lowered it to his side, feeling it jerk against his thigh. 

"Shiro," he started, voice dipping with uncertainty. "What's wrong?" 

Shiro's mouth was moving, opening and closing rapidly, but no words were coming out. His chest was heaving with great lurching breaths as well and when his eyes finally clashed back to Lance's, he looked as though he was begging for something from Lance. On his right, his stump twitched as he moved to brush a non-existent hand over his face. When he realised this, Shiro started and corrected himself, using his other hand to brush his sweaty fringe away from his forehead, though it flopped back in place soon after. 

" _Isabelle,_ " he choked out finally, as if testing the word out on his tongue. Then things became really disconcerting, because Shiro said it again, " _Isabelle,_ " and again, " _Isabelle,_ " and  _again,_ " _Isabelle._ " An endless mantra of Lance's sister's name. It fell from Shiro's lips in heavy pants and he struggled to intake air at the same time. His shoulders heaved beneath his white Cryo Pod suit, and his eyes had blown large and round. 

Every time he said her name, it felt like a bullet to Lance's chest, and it had him pulling himself backwards in bed until his back hit the wall behind him. Shiro was having some kind of panic attack, and every time his mouth opened it drove Lance further back into his own panic and misery. Drove him further back into his swirling mess of a mind. 

"Stop, Shiro,  _please._ Stop saying it!" he begged, trying to use his hands to cover his ears, but they shook too much to block any incoming noise. 

" _Isabelle."_ Pain bloomed in the centre of Lance's chest, rising, rising, like a hand inside him, up this spine and settling deep inside his mind. 

"Stop it!" 

He couldn't get in enough air. 

" _Isabelle._ " The pain spiked again, sending the back of Lance's head colliding into the wall behind him. The dull thunk did nothing to quell this terrible thing blooming inside his head, though. And with each call of his sister's name it grew larger, hotter, forcing his fingers to dig painful gashes into his palms. 

"Shut up!"

" _Isabelle._ " 

"Shiro!" 

 _"Isabelle._ " 

"STOP!"

 _Help,_ Lance begged inside his head.  _Please, someone, anyone._ Shiro's voice was driving him to the brink of something he was't prepared for. As the volume and rate at which he spoke intensified, so did the flare of pain in the back of his skull. Lance gasped when he realised it was _his._ It was  _Shiro's_ pain that had bloomed inside of him. He was feeling Shiro the same way he felt all the Paladins just over a week ago. 

As the pain built to an inferno and the sound of Isabelle's name turned into the lash of a whip against his flesh, Lance pleaded one more time: 

_Please!_

*

Keith had been lying sleeplessly in bed that night, hands tucked beneath his head as he struggled to rid himself of the phantom feeling of Lotor ripping out his eye. He still felt it every so often, a terrible sting that would sometimes send him to his knees with a cry. He knew it was all psychological, his body remembering the pain he'd been subjected to and throwing him for a loop. And he fell for it every time. Keith gulped when the sensation of Lotor shoving that very eye into his mouth, silencing his screams at the time, rose in him again, causing his saliva to turn thick and suffocating. 

And then—

A second later—yep, there he goes. 

He heaved himself over the side of his bed and dry-retched nothing but a thin strand of bile onto the floor. Tears bled out of corners of his eye and he groaned when he finally pulled himself back into bed, his stomach aching something awful as he tried to settle himself down again. The sweat clung to his skin like glue and when he pressed his cheek desperately into his pillow for some kind of comfort, he only let out a pitiful cry when it stuck to his skin. He peeled himself away with a whine, staring up at the ceiling with a single miserable eye.  

He couldn't sleep. If he did, he just dreamt about Lotor's tongue against his face, his mouth dripping with Keith's blood as those Hellish eyes burned him alive. But staying awake like this _—_ the phantom pains only drove him almost mad with delusion. He thought about retreating to Lance's room again, but banished the idea away when he remembered the betrayed look in Lance's eyes when he flinched away from his touch. Keith had hurt his feelings. Lance wouldn't want to see him again tonight. 

Lotor's words sunk into him like ink. 

 _Look into my eyes and you'll see what I do. A monster. Just like me._  

_I'll take them in every way imaginable. I'll take their mind, their heart, their love, their soul and their life and make it my own. I'll bend them until they snap, twist them until they can't remember who they were, _let alone **you**. __

No. 

The words didn't cease. 

 _You'll be alo_ —

A brush of something warm over his mind drew Keith's attention, distraction enough that Lotor's voice filtered away briefly into nothing. Just when he thought it was a coincidence, he felt it again, harsher this time. He winced when it practically burned his mind with...panic. It felt panicked. Closing his eyes, he pushed himself deep inside his pillow and concentrated on the sensation. It was familiar, reminding him so much of Red. 

The moment it brushed past him again, forcing a shout of pain between his lips, Keith instantly knew what it was. Saw the flash of blue behind his eyes and was up on his feet before he knew what he was doing. He still wore Lance's jacket, and managed to pull up the hood as he burst out of the room in a flurry of panic. He was instantly met with Allura's own, drawn, panicked face. 

"Did you feel it, too?" she asked immediately, her chest heaving beneath her nightgown, as if she'd been running all the way from her own room. 

Keith nodded, mutely, unable to force words around his tongue, sticky and thick in the back of his throat. He tried swallowing the sensation away, but only managed to worsen it. 

He needn't have worried about talking anyway, as the two of them sprinted the last few meters to Lance's room, where Keith swallowed back his growing anxiety when he heard harsh voices rumbling from inside.  _Two_ voices, he noted with horror, one of them definitely  _Shiro's._

Oh Shit. 

"How did he get out of his Pod?" hissed Allura to Keith, turning sharp eyes on him, her fear making it look like an accusing glare. He knew better. She was just afraid for Lance and Shiro. 

Somehow he forced out words from his heavy mouth. "I don't know. Maybe it malfunctioned? Like when Lance got himself locked up with Coran." 

"Unlikely," she protested, shaking her head. 

Keith scoffed, a hand reaching out for the panel. "More likely than you _think_." 

When the doors slammed open, Keith and Allura had to take a second to allow their eyes to adjust to the darkness, then, they had to allow even more to comprehend what was going on. They stared down at Shiro's shuddering, crouched form with twin expressions of horror, heard the a single word being repeatedly forced out between his lips. No, a  _name._

_Isabelle._

Lance's sister. 

Please no, Keith begged as his eyes tracked to Lance crouched against the wall of his bed, eyes wide and frightened as they stared down, terrified, at Shiro. Then they slid up to meet Keith's gaze from the doorway, and he mouthed a single word.  _Help._

Keith didn't need to be told twice, surging forwards along with Allura to each grab Shiro by a shoulder, hauling him backwards. Keith, on his right side, grimaced when his hand made contact with the end of his stump and forced himself to hold steady as they pulled Shiro roughly to his feet. He was prepared for Shiro to struggle. What he wasn't prepared for was an elbow to come flying out from his left arm, which Allura narrowly avoided, but Keith, unlucky and exhausted, couldn't move fast enough as Shiro's entire body twisted with that single, powerful limb. 

It landed hard against the right side of his face, directly into his empty eye-socket. 

Bright, hot pain exploded inside his head as he was knocked to the floor, hood falling away from his head and Allura calling out his name in distress as she continued to struggle with Shiro's flailing body. Keith, sprawled out on his side, gasped out short pants as he tried desperately to breathe through the pain as it flared up all the way through his skull. The wound was technically healed, but still tender and fresh. Keith understood now why Allura had commanded him to steer clear of any training. It  _hurt._

_A lot._

Choking back a sob, he became aware of sudden hands on his shoulders, coaxing him into sitting up a fraction. They were shaking—Lance, then. Through gritted teeth Keith said to Allura, "Get him out of here and back into the Pod. Hunk's room is nearby, ask him for help if you need." 

Allura, who had secured Shiro's single hand behind his back in a deadly grip, shook her head. "I'll be fine with him. I don't want to bother Hunk." 

"Fine, just get him out of here," Keith groaned, a hand rising to touch feebly at his bandages. It jerked back in dread when he touched his bare skin instead of the smooth material, and it was then he noticed the mortified, regretful expression on Allura's face as she looked down at him. _No. Don't you dare look at me like that._  "Go!" he shouted, feeling his heart squeeze painfully against his chest as panic filled his insides. 

Shiro was still muttering under his breath, eyes trained completely, frantically, on Lance, even as Allura escorted him out the door. It was as if Lance was all he could see—the only thing in the entire room. In the moment before his face disappeared, Keith caught the collapse of his brows, the painful catch in his breathing, and recognised the twisted expression as one of regret. Keith wasn't sure if he'd told Lance the awful truth they were all keeping from him, but he was sure Shiro had every intention to. 

"Keith, are you okay?" Lance whispered above him as Keith's eye remained fixed on the doors. The pain was still an intense ball of fire in his skull, but it was slowly fading. When he felt Lance shuffle him from behind, he was startled into whipping his hand over his right side, shielding the wound from Lance's prying eyes. "C'mon, buddy," Lance tried coaxing Keith with, leaning down over his shoulder to try and peer at his face. His voice shook with barely concealed trauma, but he was somehow keeping a lid on it for Keith. 

_God, this boy._

"I—I'm okay," he squeezed out, studiously turning his face to the side as Lance tried to peer closer. From there, Keith muttered, "What about you? I felt you panicking through the link." 

The 'link' is what team Voltron had collectively decided to call this new thing between them now. They'd always been able to connect when they formed Voltron, however, now they could connect even without the lions, no matter where they were or how far away, it seemed. It was strong and tedious, flaring up suddenly whenever one of them felt something particularly overwhelming, as if the overflow spilled onto the rest of them. If it wasn't so terrifying, Keith would have adored being connected so tightly to the people around him. 

Keith heard Lance gulp, a large ear twitching to the side as he said, "Yeah, I'm good. I just—God he walked in told me he had something to say and then began just rambling my sister's name. I freaked out, too I guess. I could feel his own pain at the same time inside me. It was just overwhelming. I'm really sorry for bothering you and Allura." 

So, Shiro hadn't told Lance. Wasn't that the best luck they'd had in the last month and a half? How depressing. At least it was crisis avoided, though. His gut still felt twisted sickly at the process of lying to Lance, though. Lance didn't deserve this. But he didn't deserve anymore pain for now, either. 

"It's fine, I was up anyway," Keith reassured.  

"Of course you were." 

"You telling me you can actually sleep a full eight hours lately?" Keith scoffed, still crowding away from Lance's prying eyes. He could feel the other boy's breath fanning out over his cheekbone. 

Lance chuckled dully. "God, I wish." Suddenly, Lance's shaking hands were hauling Keith up by his armpits before he gently guided Keith to sit back on his bed, positioning himself carefully beside him. Keith still avoided his eyes, sitting on Lance's left meant the eye he covered was closest to him, which meant he could easily reach up and lay his hand over Keith's on his face. As he did right now. Keith sucked in a nervous breath. "Keith, you don't have to hide it. I'm the last person who would judge." 

Keith stubbornly shook his head, wincing when it sent a wave of pain through his skull. When Lance flinched beside him, Keith realised some of his pain must be spilling into him. "No, I don't want anyone to see it." 

"At least let us get you an eyepatch or something better than bandages. We can't be wasting them on a wound that doesn't need them anymore." 

"Don't tell me I'm wasting things, please." 

"Sorry. Do you need an ice pack or something?" 

"Do you need me here still?" 

"I panicked. You and Allura came to my rescue. I think I'll be fine, though. But Shiro has really lost it, Keith, you weren't kidding. This is bad. What are we going to do?" Lance asked, concern dripping from his words. 

Keith shook his head slowly, regret making all his movements slow and sluggish. "I don't know. We'll figure out something, though. We have no choice. We need him as our leader again." 

Lance was silent next him for a long while, Keith feeling the slight brush of his shoulder against his as he breathed evenly into the room. When he glanced briefly over to Lance, Keith took in the messy, creased state of his pyjamas and the way his hands clenched shakily together on his thighs. They shook fiercer when he was anxious about something. Which was how Keith could tell this incident with Shiro had really rattled him. 

"Wait," Lance broke the silence with, his head swivelling to Keith. It was too late for Keith to try and avoid his stare, so he held it, one hand still covering his right side. "What do you mean 'we need him as our leader again'?" 

"Lance..." 

" _You're_ the leader." 

"Lance, we both know that's not true," Keith said calmly. He'd already accepted it—had accepted it the moment Lotor freed his eye from its place.  _I'm not suited for this. I can't even protect myself, let alone an entire team._

Keith, at least, was touched by the amount of confusion etching its way through Lance's expression right now. The tinge of regret that sparked deep within Keith spurred on by the obvious trust Lance had somehow, along the line, willingly given to him. 

It was touching, to say the least. 

"But the Black Lion chose you," Lance tried helplessly, his face scrunching together in the wake of this newfound information. 

"But my bond with her feels like broken glass grating against my insides, Lance. It hurts. I fractured the bond and I'm not the kind of person who can re-establish it. She wouldn't even open for me when Lotor came after me. He ripped out my eye, and she did _nothing._ " All this was said in a whisper while his face slowly lowered to duck away from Lance's penetrating gaze. 

"You can't just quit. We need you." 

"—to form Voltron,  _I know,_ " Keith said bitterly, a scowl etched deep into his face. 

Lance paused, sighed, then slapped a hand across the crown of Keith's head. With a start, he jerked up to turn his scowl on Lance but paused halfway there. "If you didn't butt in, you would have heard me tell you that we need you as our _friend_. Not just so we can conveniently form a giant robotic man with a sword."  

_Oh._

"Oh." 

It was stupid, but Keith felt the need to preen under Lance's words.  _We need you._ _We need you as our **friend**. _

_Friend._

That felt better than he had ever expected. He never thought he'd be allowed to have anyone besides Shiro. 

"Yeah," Lance murmured softly. "I'm not gonna tell you what to do. We both know that wouldn't work well. But just give it some more time, okay? Don't do anything rash just yet. Wait until all this awful stuff that happened is more or less in the past," he added earnestly, a small grin at the edge of his lips. Somehow the sight of it managed to draw Keith's own shaky one. 

He gave it to Lance, the string between that smile and his heart taught and nervous. But Lance took it, and smiled a little wider. He'd give Lance what he asked for. "Okay. That, I can do." 

"You're doing fine," Lance added quietly, leaning in close. 

Keith followed him in. "You'll be okay." 

"You'll make it through this." 

"You're strong." 

"We're fine."

"We're fine." 

It was something they'd started doing a couple times a day after arriving back at the castle, repeating these same kind of encouragements to each other on a loop until they both managed to calm down. It worked, for the most part, and they usually ended up falling asleep from repeating these same back to back words to each other. It could go on for a couple hours a time. It felt oddly religious to Keith. 

But Keith always came out of it feeling better. 

Which was why, somehow, when Lance finally built up the courage to remove Keith's hand from his face, he didn't fight him. He tried to turn his face away slightly, but a shaky hand caught his chin. He could only see half Lance's face when angled like this because of his blindspot, but Keith still saw the intrigued pout on Lance's lips as he scanned his eyes over the wound. He didn't look disgusted, like Keith had imagined he would a thousand times in his nightmares, just observational. There wasn't pity in his eyes either, but instead...humour? 

When those blue eyes twinkled mischievously, Keith knew he had it right. 

"Well, at least Lotor made it pretty clean. There's like basically no scaring. Do you think Coran and Allura can give you like a robot eye or something? You and Shiro could be cyborg buddies. Oh, we could totally become the Teen Titans this way! I'm Robin, obviously. Pidge is Beast Boy. Allura is Raven. Hunk is Starfire. And you and Shiro are both cyborg. Maybe you can do a Voltron and combine into one big _super_ cyborg," Lance grinned, and somehow,  _somehow,_ Keith felt a small, genuine laugh bubble out from inside his chest. And it kept bubbling, until Lance was laughing with him, too. Those blue, pin-point eyes lighting up the way they always did. So very  _alive._  They always had Keith's heart leaping into his throat. 

Gliding the back of his hand softly across Lance's cheek, habitual gesture between them now, Keith chuckled, "I have  _no idea_ what you're talking about right now." He was crying a little, too, a single wet line running down his left cheek. But he kept the grin plastered on his face, if only it meant he could keep one on Lance's. 

Lance reeled back, mockingly hurt, with a hand placed in the centre of his chest. "Seriously? Oh man, that's humiliating. For me. Spouting all that shit at you. Maybe we're gonna have to go see if Pidge can stream some Earth tv for us? For your sake." 

Keith's grin sharpened out into a small smirk. "Sounds like a plan." 

* * *

When Pidge heard knocking on her bedroom door that night, both she and Hunk groaned awake in unison. Hunk rolled over on the floor with a loud sigh. 

"What now?" he grumbled. He'd decided to come keep her company tonight after he found her passed out over her laptop as she searched for anything relating to her brother's escape from Beta Traz. It had become obsessive now, her need to find Matt. Driving her to the very edge of her sanity. 

If she were too late, she'd never forgive herself. She couldn't allow the same thing to happen as it did to her father. She'd promised her mother as much before she escaped from home, Coran loading her father's body into a tube-like coffin. When she'd arrived back on the castle, Coran had stood by her side with a hand on her shoulder as they shot that tube into the stars. If anything positive came out of these last few terrible weeks, it was that her father finally got his wish. He'd always said he'd want his coffin shot off into space so he could fade into cosmic dust. She'd sobbed the entire time, watching it wink out of existence, Coran not saying a single word, but the hand on her shoulder tightened painfully hard. 

She knew Hunk was worried about her. And she felt bad because he was worried about Lance, too. He was so busy attending to them both that he was ignoring his own trauma, and Pidge knew just how damaging doing that could be. 

She could see the heavy toll it was taking in the dreariness of his eyelids as he glanced at the door. Dread. He was dreading whatever was to come. 

"I'll get it," Pidge muttered, rubbing a hand across her face with a yawn. Of course the one time she found herself capable of finding some rest was the one time she got interrupted. She didn't include last night, seeing as she was still awake when the noise from Shiro's room caught her attention. 

Hunk groaned an agreement, burrowing further into his blankets. 

Pidge was expecting all kinds of terrible things when she opened the doors. Maybe Keith had lost another eye? Maybe Lance had turned against them? Maybe Lotor himself was behind those doors? None of those things would surprise her at this point. 

Which was why she was surprised to see Keith, Lance and Allura all crowding around the entrance to her room that night with strangely eager looks on their faces. She was even more surprised when Lance's mouth was twitched into a hesitant grin. On either side of him, Keith and Allura looked a little more humiliated and confused about what was going on.  

"What's—ahh, what's going on, guys?" Pidge started, propping an eyebrow up. Her vision was slightly blurry without her glasses. She thanked Matt every day for getting his eyes fixed so he could pass them down to her. 

"We were wondering if..." Allura started, her eyes darting uncertainly to Lance in a silent request. 

"If there is any chance you can catch Earth stations on all those computers of yours?" he finished for her.  

"I caught the Galra radio waves before we found the Blue Lion. I can do _anything_ ," she gloated confidently, leaning against the doorframe. 

One of Keith's ears twitched eagerly forwards. "So...that's a yes?" 

"Of course." 

"Uhh, what's going on, guys?" Hunk asked, sitting up inside his cocoon of blankets now.  

"We gonna watch some tv, is all," Lance announced, striding into the room with maybe half of his usual swagger, which was honestly nice to see. It was so very _Lance_. So, Pidge couldn't help a fraction of a smile herself. 

Keith and Allura soon followed Lance's lead, the three of them collapsing in various states of relaxation around Hunk, though Pidge could see the awkward way Keith made sure to stay as far away from the Yellow Paladin as possible. He wedged himself snug against Lance's side, though, watching the way Lance moved and talked with one curious eye, totally enraptured. It was...adorable? Not quite. But it was definitely a _thing_. Belatedly Pidge realised he'd taken off his bandages, allowing the full extent of his injury to display itself to them. 

With a breath of air between her teeth, Pidge allowed her doors to slam shut behind her and began shuffling around to pull out her equipment. It was a tight squeeze, her room having been totally decked out with various computers, items of interest, photographs and documents until there was very little floor space left. She'd had a hard-enough time pulling out a mattress to fit Hunk inside, having to squeeze all her shit to the edges. 

"When did you get fairy lights?" Keith asked, looking at the decorations above her bed with a sour twist to his lips. Jealously? 

" _Where_ did you get fairy lights?" Hunk added. 

"Space mall," Pidge supplied as she lugged her computer into the middle of the group on the mattress. 

"To reiterate Keith's question:  _When_?" Lance asked, incredulous. "I was with you the whole time." 

She smirked over her shoulder at him, thrilled when he offered her one of his own in return. "It's a secret." 

This was good. Lance was full of good ideas at times, and bringing them together over something so ridiculous was definitely one of them. She thanked the universe for Lance every day of her life. 

"That sounds concerning." This was Allura, tucking Hunk's pillow into her lap to lean on. Her short hair was brushed neatly tonight, and glimmered beautifully against the fairy lights. 

"Speaking of concerning," Lance spoke up, his voice turning suspicious. "Why is there a trash version of me in your room?" 

"Oh, there's one of me, too," Hunk laughed as he pointed to the corner of her bed. 

" _The fuck_ ," Lance whispered quietly. 

"I'm still concerned," Allura added again, sounding even more worried. 

When Pidge felt a hand on her right from Hunk and Lance's pointy chin digging into her shoulder on the left, she almost sobbed at the familiarity of everything. This was good. Not perfect; she could still feel the waves of hurt and trauma radiating from the people around her, but they were all smiling in some shape or form. Lance grinned eagerly at the screen in front of them, sometimes turning that grin excitedly to Keith beside him. Hunk smiled softly as he watched the way Pidge's hands worked with the computer. Allura smiled at Hunk, and Keith smiled at Lance. 

She wished desperately that Shiro were here, too. However, she'd take what was given to her for the moment. 

It was enough. 

* * *

Zethrid watched Lotor's back with a sense of dread growing like a hard ball inside her stomach. She wanted to sink down to the ground with the weight of it as she followed the way he flexed his new prosthetic hand. There was something final about him getting his hand back. It was the hand he used to wield his sword; he felt dangerous again. 

Was she afraid? 

Did she trust him? 

He'd left behind two of their comrades for dead. Forced Zethrid to leave them behind, too, and for the first time in her life, she looked at Lotor and felt conflict like a storm inside her head. Narti looked to be having a similar problem, her tail whipping around her viscously in a way Zethrid knew she only did when she was angry. She'd lost Kova. She had no eyes now. 

Would Lotor toss her away, too, now that she was officially blind? 

Zethrid didn't know. 

She didn't know him at all, she realised with a terrible start. Reality hurt. 

For the first time, she wondered what it would be like to stab someone in the back.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/story belongs to Dreamworks. 
> 
> Did I mention this is the last chapter of this part? Don't worry! there shall be a part three! Lotor is still breathing, right? 
> 
> Speaking of Lotor, I totally called him turning on his own generals for his selfish sake. And then thus turning on him. I characterised him like that from the very beginning, and literally planned a dividing arc for them, and now the show does it, too? Thrilled over here. I mean, sad for Narti obviously, but Lotor conflicting now, which is good in terms of creating an interesting story. He'll be harder to like, even if he does something you really adore. 
> 
> Speaking of season four, what were your thoughts? I was conflicted at first, but once I watched it again I realised I really did enjoy it. And I see what they're trying to do. I have a post on my Tumblr about Keith's decision if you're interested? cityofsexyshadowhunters--don't judge the name, I made it when I was like 15 and was too proud to get rid of it lol. 
> 
> Anyway! Thanks for sticking around and reading my shit! 
> 
> More so come soon!
> 
> xoxoxoxo


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